r ^' '1*
\iyrtij: leaves, y
ST^CrONTD i DITiOrv.
TOKENS AT THE TOMB.
REV ADOLPKUS W MANQCM.
RALEIGH, N. C,
BRANSON & FARRAR,
>. ■ 1864.
"We Lave iioticrd the custom as prevalent among the
Eaeteiii nations of visiting the tomb.y of their deceased friends.
■^ * * At the foot of each grave was enclosed a eprig of
Myrtle, regularly watered every day by the mourning friend
who visited it. * * * We did not observe a single grave
to which this token of respect and sorrow w^ae not attach-
ed. '^ I jf' pUCKl^HAM.
; . ^^-s
r N/\r^ .7^
THE AFFLICTED AND BEUEAVED
''by THE AUTHOR.
I xi n r Q Q
PKEFACE, - - - - . - 7
DISCOURSE ON THE DEATH OF J. W. HARRISS, 13
THE HOLY SHIELD, . . . _ 29
THE DREAM OF FAITH, - - - " 33
FOREVER GONE, - - * . . - 42
THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME, - - 47
THE GRAVE, 52
THE HYACINTH, - - - ' - - 58
MY MOTHER'S GRAVE, - - .» - 65
CONSOLATION, - . . . - -67
WHERE ARE THEY ? - 1 1 i C t} 3 ^ " "^
WE'LL MEET AGAIN, - ^ - - . . 76
MOTHER, HOME, AND HE AVE^T, - - .- 79
MORVEN AND LINDA ; OR, THE TOKEN STAR, 81
THE BURIED LOCK, - - - - - 9t
LITTLE ELLA, . - - - - 99
SHE IS GON^, - - - . - - 101
THE LAST TEAR, - - • - - - 103
THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL, - - - - 105
THE FATAL FLOWER, - - - , - ■ 106
ITIS WELL, - - - - - - 112
MY HAPPY HOME, - - - - 111
THE NEOLECTED GRAVE, - - - - 109
WEEPING BUT HOPING,^ -* ^ - 113
THAT BEAUTIFUL BLUE SKY, - - - 114
FAREWELL, - - - - - 116
.'TELLHER/^- — — - - - - 118
LINES IN MEMORY^OF. DR. MITCHELL, - - ll9
TO A DEPARTED FRIEND, - - - 122
'OUR LITTLE ROSE," - - - - 124
THE SETTING STAR, 127
THE TRlUxMPH OF THE REDEEMED, - - 129
The first edition of Myrtle Leaves is exhaust-
ed. I do not regret its publication, ibr it met
with a generous welcome, and I have many rea-
sons to believe that it has accomplished good.
In preparing the second edition I have carefully
reviewed the first, and added much which, it is
hoped,^will renderthework more successful in its
mission of sympathy and consolation. With
humble confidence it is committed to the care of
Him who '* doeth all things well."
* StiU o%t- ihor€ aceno* my meinTy w»<k8S,
And for-diy brcxjda v»iih misi or ;
Time but tJi' irnprcee-.ofi-de-'fer m >ko«
4bS si'^&cos ibaif 'cl-aaneU a e . r »v.'rt:," BuRi^^s
There are few tomba without tears — few without the
incense of eacred memories and griefg. To love and
hallow the re3ting place of the loved and lost, is cj a-
men to mankind. It is said some unknown hand git^h-
ered flowers and strewed them even upon the cursed* and
friendless grave of Nero. The North American j.n-
dians, notwithstanding their ignoranoe and barbarism,
so revered, the tombs of their people that they w )uld '
never pass them -fiibout scattering du3t upon them as
a token of respect and memory, and future generations
wer« known to return and visit the rude and silent burial
grounds of their fathers. There tha maidens threw
their offerings of beads and Sowers,, and the stalwart
warrior of the forest bowed and worshipped his God.—
Even the ar.clvilised Africans follow this raj of light
which beams from the universal heart, and assembling
around the grave, chant a dismal, wailing dirge to the
departed. In the distant past, the Modes, and Persians,
and Grreeks, all practiced the beautiful custom of casting
flowers and evergreens in the open vault '; and they hand-
ed down rfhe example of planting the Myrtle over tha
cherj.^hcd fallen as a token of undying reoiembranoe
and aSection. The history of the '^^wrid p.'ov^is that
10 MYRTLE LEAVES. .
the more cnligbten^d and pious a people are, the more
j^triking and aifecting- the evidences of this universal
principle. We^ dear reader, remember, aye, and we yet
ferv^ently love our dear departed. We look still with
a strange interest on the objects that are associated
with our recollections of them. We regard with sad
tenderness the fjowers they nursed, the trees they plan-
ted, the paths they trod, the garments they wore, the
chairs they occupied, the books they read, the songs
they sang, the pleasures they once enjoyed, the kind
friends they loved ; yes, and preeminently, the ruthtess
(graves which they now fill. It is so ; it is our nature
tha£ it should be ^o. There are many occasions when it
might be said ; "It is manly to be heart-broken here."
Hearts will remember — will sorrow. But they need
not remember and sorrow in vain. Memory may change
to hope, and te|rs may brighten and nurture that hope
as it matures. Have you a grief which earth cannot
allay ? Have you felt the heart-strings breaking as you
gave up some fond friend or relative to the dark, cold
sepulchre ? Then, come and commune with me. What
is the best alleviation of your grief — what the noblest use
to. make of your afflictions ? Whenever you remember
t4iat dear one, remember that you too must die. Then
as the soul shudders, think of the glorious' provision
made by Mercy, to enable you to live forever, although
you must pass through the tomb. Follow this thought
with the sacred resolve that becomes a being of reason,
self-love, and immortality, and spring to the open arms
of the Father of Life and Consolation, begging and re-
ceiving salvation and solace through the merits of His
Sou, Believe the voice of all experience, there is peace
and .hope for jou in those arms — there is none else-
where in all this universe. Faith in the Son of Marv
is the great specific of Infinite Wisdom and Love, for the
wounds of the human lieart. Other means of relief
might he recommended, but their effects are only par-
tial and transitory. There are none real and effectual,
save those which look to the abundant satisfaction
which God has promised to thpse who love and serve
Ilim. Possessed of that faith, you may view affliction
and the grave with an honest eye, clothe them with all
the power and terror which they may justly claim, and
you will discover that over all their darkness there is
a covering of sunshine, a.nd on the dreary mound the
hand of heaven has planted the beautiful heart's-ease —
the cheering amaranth — teaching the weeping heart of
a land where the flowers of love and rapture bloom
without fading, and the Sun of glory shtiies with in-
creasing radiance forever!.
But how may you' embrace that ''faith,' and secure
that peace and comfort, and hope of the Christian ?
You must abandon all your sins, and resolve to do the
will of your Heavenly Father, commencing this very
moment. But this is not enough. Past sins must
be forgiven, and the heart must bo changed and made
new. How shall this be accomplished? Momentous
question*! God says lie. will do it, if you w*li ask Him
in the name and through the merits of His Son, who
died to purchase these blessings. Do you believe this?
Then continue to believe, and lift up the heart in sup-
plication, and the ever-glorious work iii done. All your
V2 MyRTI.E LKAVf.!*.
rcliuncc must be in the promise the FatbftV has made,
for the sake oT Ilis Son, that ''whaUon-er yo\t aik in
ffis najne, believe that you nceive it and yon, shall'have
it." With euch reliance you shall bo conscious of a
happy change an«l feel the gentle peace anJ holy love of
^ thj Saviour breaihing through the soul. Then you will
realize tliat '*all is well,' though the shadows of death
gather gloomily in y^ur once sunny home. In the long
days and nights of your loneliness you will feel the
soothing influence of a precious >pirlt-prcsence, and
seem to hear the voice of your Redeemer. as he whispers
tenderly to your soul, *'/will not — / will not leave thee ;
I will never — NEVER — 2SEVER forsakeihce. " Oh, what
an immensity of satisfaction, in that priceless assurance !
OK THE DEATH OF
JAMES* W. ilARRISS.
' Arn.l be did thai which v,'a?; right in the sight of tho Lord, and
"walked in the 'wnyn of David, his futhor, and inclined noithcr to
tJje ripht band nor to the left. ^ Fur in the eie^hth year ofhi? rei^;:!!,
■while he was yet young, he Vgar, to peek after the God of David,
hi? father." — 11 Chron. xxxiv. if^, 8,
This text is an epitome of the life of Josiab. \vlio wa.s
ou€ of the most excellent kings of Israel. It was said
oi him, "David was a greater, but not a better man."
lie began to seek the Lord in the sixteenth year of his
age, and became so zealous and devoted as a servant of
God. that ho overthrew the idolatry of his people, and
re-establi.^hed among them the worship of the otily true
We iiii^y use the same elotjucnt Mord^ of , the text, al-
most without change, to describe the life and character
of him around whose bier we meet to-day, to mingle our
sad, but hopeful tears. When applied to him, they sug-
gest- tlie idea tliat '-lUK M.\1N PePPOSEb" OF LIFE ARE
ACCOMPLI?:HJil> ULI.V BY 'IJIOJ-K AI.ONE WHO ARE EARLY
\\r> PKKSrSTEJSTLY PI<»L-."'
Let us then proceed to consider life's leading (»hjects.
and to ascertain bv whom thcv arc fulfilled.
14 MYRTLE LEAVES.
One of these objects, is the enjoyment oj this life*
Man loves peace andpleasure. It is his constant desire
* and aim to shun trouble and be happy. In this, he is
l)lainly approved by his Leavenly Father. God never
designed man's misery. He has put forth his mighty
cnGrfries to make him blessed. Human instincts all
^ook to the avoiding of evil, and the embracing of good.
The various endowments of body and mind, and the vast
resources in nature, to which they are directed and
adapted, unite in declaring the same gracious purpose.
It is unmistakeably revealed also in%the volume of In-
Who then enjoys this life luost and best? Nat the
wicked ; for the Bible teaches that '' the way of the
transgressor is hard, " and that " there is no peace to
the wicked.'' Reason and experience teach the same.
Guilt is misery. The German poet says,
" Of all earthly ills, the chief is guilt.."
The usual'attendant of guilt is a bad conscience, and
that always afflicts the soul with painful disquietude and
'• I'licix' aiiiile.1 i\<j [luriidisc vU oaitii .si> laii-
But guilt will raise ave -ging phantoms there.
The sinner may resolve and strode to forget his condi-
tion, to stultify his conscience, and to drown the troubles
of his uneasy heart in wicked indulgences ; but it will be
like the forgetfuhicss of a victim of a fell disease, giving
neither remedy nor safety : auii wlienever he looks ^with-
in him, he will find and feel that his peace is not genuine
or reliable. In the degree that a man commits vile and
wicked acti, he often loses his self-respect, and self-
respect is indispensable to real enjoyment.
A SERMON. ,15
Sinful habits are fruitful sources of suffering and mis-
fortune. Ungodlj conduct frequently changes a cherish-
ed pleasure into a fountain of bitterness. It sometimes
saps the foundations of all hope and happiness, and
makes life, while in its spring time, a cheerless desola-
tion — a miserable ;iuin. It has driven many a poor
heart to seek relief from the burden of woe, and the fiery
fiting of remorse in the terrible death of the suicide.
How is it with the Christian ? The Scn-iptures de-
clare that ** godliness is profitable unto all things, having
the promise of the life that noiv is, " and that " all things
work together for good. to them that love God." This
latter verse is one of the great oracles of Heaven,
whence christians receive responses that calm their
hearts' commotions, and give them contentment in the
hours of terror and gloom. It is only one specimen of
the manifold privileges and treasures of the child of
God. As a grand foundation, he feels that he is safe.
Broad as the infinitude of Gods power and mercy, is
the ground 'of his trust. He has vouchsafed unto him
a precious peace of mind which nestles unrufiled in his
reposing soul, despite the powers of change, the frowns
of fortune, and the fierce clamorings of sin. While he
is faithful, he can ever say with good old Melancthon,
" a good conscience is my paradise." He takes life's
blessings with a careful hand, and then sweetens theui
with his heartfelt gratitude. Everything that is in the
world seems richer and sweeter and dearer to him, be-
cause he loves God, and knows that God loves him. He
suffers no undue solicitude about the future, for, as he
looks before him, he beholds a golden promise on the
i6 MYRTLE LEAVES.
l)oeom of to-n'iCiTO^. He baa so much hope to cheer
him, based upon tliose sure promi&eB, that he cannot be
found without abundant cause for gratitude to his kind
Father. And then he ib ever tasting the 8^veet waters
of anticipationj for he knows that after a %hile, his hope
will ripen into Eeaven. , «
HencSj the longer one lives here "siithout a saving
trust in the Saviour, the more evil he encounters^ and
tlie more enjoyment he loses. Ke alone realizes the
blessings which InSnite Vfisdor* designs that tliis world
should afford, who becomes pious while he is '*<yet
young, " and lives in obedience to the gracious com-
mandments of the Lord.
Another great object of life ie to minuter to the wel-
fare and enjoyment of our fellow beings. This is clearly
indicated by the existenceof the great laws of influence,,
by the tender ties of relationship, and by all those noble
sensibilities of our nature which turn to svmpathv at
the sight of sorrow, and prompt us to r( jt?ice over the
success and happiness of tho3& wo love. The Truth of
God represents this as one of the main feaiiires in the-
objects of life.
We there leam that if we are jealou;3 fur God's glory,
we should have regard to man's happiness. Kow, sui*e-
ly no one will contend that sinfulness conduces to the
fulfilment of this bbiect. Does a wicked mo.n make his
friends happy ? Do his sins bring peace and joy to the
hearts that cherish him -? Only think of the uneasiness
*a.nd affliction which have been produced by a siiigle
reckless, dissipated youth! . The. blush of shame often
tingog the cheek of the innocent, as a fslher, or brother,
A SERMON, 17
or husband, or son takes the name of God. in vain in
the presence of those who frown and shudder at pro-
fanity. Go with me in fancy to the home of the youth
who has fallen a victim to intemperance. He has been
absent too long, and tlie hearts, the loving hearts are
filled with anxious fears. They speak kindly of him
Btill; they cannot speak otherwise than kindly, for after
all his recklessness, nature prompts them to love him.
The more tbey cherish him, the more they sufier on his
account. At length his uneven step is heard, and turn-
ing to tbe door they see him stagger over the threshold.
The dear old mother's face turns pale with grief, for
she is looking on the dying hope and promise of her
child. Those are hot tears that she Is shedding, and
there is agony in those trembling limbs. Ah ! her heart
is too .good and kind to be struggling so ! And the
father is unhappy too. He is pierced to the heart to
see his once noble and hopeful boy, a wretched drunkard.
His manly bosom quivers with alternate grief and re-
sentment. The scene is finished by a sweet sister cling-
ing with weeping love to her brother, and striving to
redeem him by shedding around him a spell of tender-
ness almost as sacred as the incense of Heaven. There
is deep gtoom in that household, and well there may be,
for it is shrouded by a dismal and darkening curse.
Young man: beware! To the extent that you are
wicked you will bring evil and miao-y to fond and trust-
ing hearts. Sin makes its votaries unpleasant, repul-
sive and troublesome. An idle, wayward, swearing,
drinking, gambling son, makes sunshine darkness, and
18 MYRTLE LEAVES.
How different the influence of the pious youtli ! His
presence in the delight of his home. All are the more
happy when he la with them, dispensing the sweetest
kindness, and the holy charms of love. His company
is always pleasant, and he cheers and gladdens every
circle that he enters. He speaks the words of wisdom
and encouragement. He scatters the gifts of a generous
sympathy. His actions are noble and enchaining, how-
ever humble his sphere, and tell upon the welfare of all
who follow his example. He contributes as liberally as
ho can to useful and ch-aritable causes. He is taught
by his religion to feed the hungry, clothe the naked,
comfort the afflicted, minister to the unfortunate^, and
visit the fatherless and the widow. In brief, to ' the
degree that he is faithful, he devotes his time, - talents^
possessions, influence, everything, in a high sense, to the
alleviation of want and. distress, and the enhancement
of human weal.
It is a still higher object of life to i/rqn'ove the spiritual
condition of others — to lead them to the enjoyment of
religion in this life, and to preparation for the eternal
There is no difficulty in deciding which is the charac-
ter that meets this great fend. It is certainly not the
ungodly man. The whole weight of his -example tends
to keep people from being religious. Though he be
comparatively moral, his life is all the time pleading
against heartfelt piety. He is apt to injure most those
who respect and admire him most. His respectability
And popularity often give dreadful potency to the- in-
fluence of his irreligious practices. The stupendous
A SERMON. • 19
realities involved in influence, are not appreciated. Wliilo
it is sure that every man receives enougli of God's grace
to leave him without excuse, if he fail to be religious, it
is equally certain that God invests us -with powers with
which we may hless or injure others to a most startling
degree. By withholding good and inculcating evil by
precept and example, a man may become verily guilty
of the sins of another, as though he committed them
himself; and he may incur the condemnation of Heaven
for all the injury which it^ occasioned in the lives of
others by his rebellious and degraded life. This being
true, det ev^ry mind consider the awful amount of evil
for which one man may become responsible. Take for
example one who indulges in intoxicating beverages,
and encourages others to do so. He.tn all probability
causes his friends and associates to become more or less
dissipated — these exert the same baneful influence on
others, and thus the revolting vice goes on, spreading as
a dire contagion, while years on years expire. He who
by any means willfully prevents one soul from embracing
religion, may thereby become the guilty destroyer of
unnumbered precious souls. Such a man may after-
wards become pious, and bewail the sad4njury which he
has inflicted on the hearts and homes of those that were
dear to him, but no tears can then check or cancel what
has been done. He finds that he has injured some
hearts that have ceased their beating, and others that
are bound In hopeless servitude to the prince of dark-
ness. Remember, you cannot entirely recall influence
once exerted. You may as well go to the oak that the
lightning has shivered, and seek by^(5ur tears to replace
20 MYRTLE LEAVES.-
the splintered bougliSj md clotbe them in green foliage
again. You trisy as well stand in the drear garden that
the frost has blightedj and call to the withered fiowers
to bloom in freshnesSj and the decayed fruitagej to put
on its blushes and delight the eye again. You. may as
well pray to " yesterday " to return and be as though
it had never be£n= You may as well stand by thegrave
and talk to the dust that moulders in its bosom.- The
past is past forever. Its deeds are done forever. 'Its
examples are immortal. It is vain to dream of arrest-
ing the march of its influences. Henee^ he who lives in
sin, be his practices what they may, is guilty of turning
loose junong mankind demons of evil which shall stalk
forth, multiplying-: their numbers/ propagating sorrow
and buffering, and destroying forever immortal souls for
which Jesus died. In this, the sinner is like a man who
walks through a prairie with a great torch in his hand.
Here and there he kindles fires just to see the blaze
dance through the high grass, regardless of the sweet
homes that are around hirn, and the many traveller
whose lives ho endangers. The wind takes up the fiame
and wafts it swifc ly away.. He journeys on, and may
not learn again the career of those fires, but that does
not temper their fury. Property is burned — homes are
corjSumt>d — sweet fields are desolated— lives are destroy-
ed — hearts arebroken-7-innocence suffers — and orphans
sorrow in their far-off homes. Such is but a faint illus-
tration of the character and consequences of a sinner's
pilgrimage through the fields of life. May God have
rnercy on the man wIk) will do so much harm !'
How. differently the christian makes his impress ! His
life is a blessing to others. God gives him vast en-
A SERMON. 21
couragement to pray, promising that his prayer^ shall
be heard and answered in mercy. Even when far sep-
arated from his friends, he can interest kind Heaven
for them, and thus minister to their spiritual wants. By
gentje reproof, tender entreaty, kindly sympathy,
cheering encouragement, and faithful counsel, he may
almost constantly be doing good. He uses the meaiis
of helping others to be righteous, which God has de-
signated, and \diich experience has signally distinguish-
ed for centuries. He has the inspiring assurance that
*- whatsoever he doeth shall pi*osper" — that i^ due sea-
son he shall reap if he faint not in well-doing ; that he
shall reap what he soweth, and that if be goeth forth
and weepeth, bearing precious seed,' he shall doubtless
return again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with
him. If it were necessary, numerous instances of the
glorious fulfillment of these promises could be given.
Many an humble christian has put a good cause in opera-
tion which is now extending, and shall roll on like an
increasing current, till it bears to glory an immortal
But the all-absorbing object of life is TO prepare roK
ETERNITY. To die is a necessity. To be judged by the
Lord is a necessity. To exist forever in misery or glory
is a stupendous necessity. He who dies without faith
in the Saviour, fa'lls under a sentence of death that
knows no modification or repeal forever. And oh, the
nature of that t?e«//i / The mind revolts at the first
thought of it. Yet, may it be your doom, youthful
sinner. Early and perpetual piety is the only safeguard
against it. There is real danger that you may die
22 MYEILE LEAVER
young., If you be not a christianj then all the chances
of early death are dangers of early and eternal destruc-
tion. If no one had ever died young, then would your
confidence and fearlessness bo somewhat more excusable.
But you are warned by unnumbered instances of death
iu youth and early manhood. If the continuance of life
even to old age were a certainty, still would it be terri-
bly hazardous to defer your return to God. If you re-
fuse redeeming mercy now, that refusing, will soon be-
come a confirmed habit, which it will be difficult to Qver-
come. It will be strengthened continually, not only by
its. own repetition, but by the concurrent force of other
sinful habits. Conscience, like a slighted and bufFetted
friend, will grow more and more silent, and may at last
be so maltreated as to fall into a fatal stupor. The tree
which, when young, was swayed by the zephyr, grows
so strong, that the storm scarcely shakes it. The
branches that swung to and fro in the summer gale while
they caught the full wind, stand almost motionless in
the tempest after their leaves are fallen. Sensibility
^ diminishes like the warm vigor of youth, and it is a
most lamentable fortune to learn, by experience, that
*' the want of feeling is the worst of all feeling." To
think of living for bright long years in the constant
danger of eternal misery, is enough to constrain the
prompt action of any reasonable being. One ought to
tremble to be thus exposed for one hour in a life -time.
He who becomes a child of God as soon as he can learn
his duty, and continues devoted through life, is the only
one who is always safe. . If called away in youth, be
^ihows ihe promise of a uj^eful and nnblo life. If spared
A. SERMON". ^o
to mature years/the good prospects are still multiply-
ing, Tvhile abundant excellence itJ. constantly developed.
He is like a plant of the tropics— always blooming, al-
ways dropping ripe fruits, while ether fruitsij are always
maturing. Such a soul is ever ready for the spirit
voyage. When it launches, it- will sail well, and will
anchor in peace and triiiiiiph at the port of glory.
it rejoices my heart to say that all of these grand
aims of life were, in great measure, accomplished by
our dear young friend, James AV. llarriss. He em-
braced religion during a revival at Trinity College in
1855, being then in his seventeenth year.- Had it been
sooner, it would have been better. He departed this
life on the morning of the 28th of June, 1860. Per-
adventure, some will conclude that as his life was brief,
it could not have been productive of any remarkable
results. To such, I answer :
" Virtue, not rolling suns, ihc mind matures,
That lifu is long, wliicii airswors Tile's great otid,
The time tliut bears no fruit deserves no name,
The man of wlsdcWii is tiie man of years,
In hoary youth Mothusalohs may die,
Oh, how misdated on their flattering tombs."
The misfortune is, that the value ol youih is not ap-
preciated. All are too prone to separate it from the
idea of actual usefulness. The opinion seems to preyail,
that while we are young, we are at liberty to shun the
great duties which crowd around us. Against such an
opinion, we are admonished ' that youth may be all of
life to us, and that if so, if we. fulfill the purposes of our
existence at all, we must be prompt and active now;
and, furthermore, the brilliant examples of such men as
McKenzie, Mavtyn and Bi-ainerd„ inspire. us with hope
24 MYETLE LEAVES.
and reconcile us to the dangers of an earlj falL Hence,
let no one doubt the rich success of the life of our de-
parted brother because it "v^aS not long. Life was
-pleasant to him. He had the right disposition/ con-
trolled bj the right principles, to qualify him for the
innocent pleasures of the world. The serenity of hi^
countenance told us of the sweet complacency of his
soul. Being almost a stranger to wickedness, he never
knew much of the uneasiness and trouble incident to
ungodly conduct. In his- remembered smiles, in his
cheerful conversation, in his amiable " pleasantry, and in.
the well-tempered interest which he manifested in the
harmless enjoyments of life, we saw that his gentle
^spirit was governing itself by the standard which God
has instituted for the use of the blessings of this world.
He also made the lives of others happier. Surely no
, one conld associate with such a. spirit without pleasur-
able feelings. By the enghaining suavity of his man-
ners he very soon won the affection of his acqaintances
and never failed to preserve it. I can never forget the
genial welcome he gave me when we met for the first
time. We were strangers then, but he greeted me like
a loving friend. It was not politeness or fashion mere-
ly—it was the sincere kindness of a true-hearted chris-
tian. To the loved ones at homo he was an embodi-
ment of pleasantness and affection. The warm solici-
tude ot his relatives and friends during his illness plainly
testified that he rendered life dearer to them all. It
was his good pleasure to minister to the convenience
and comfort of others. It would be diflficult to find one
who has more uniformly gratified and delighted his
A SERMON. 25
I friends. Even in tlie hours. of hfs last sickness he was
;^ thoughtful of the welfare of those around him. His
family and his visitors, all felt that their fortune here
was sweeter and better because of his endearing society.
He brought blessings to others in a spiritual sense. ,
His example was a saving one. Holy impressions arose,
and spread from his quiet life like the fragrance of
flowers on the breeze of the morning. Naturally gentle
and retiring, he nrnde no display ii» his efforts to do
good. While in College he was a warm counsellor of
his companions, remonstrating against wildncss and dis-
sipation. In Petersburg, where he engaged in business
after leaving College, his christian deportment was a
constant rebuke to the wicked, and an eloq^uent and im-
pressive appeal to the hearts of his acquaintances. They
felt tliie force of his pious walk. One like him doefi
much good that the world never rocognizos. His Op-
portunities for usefulness were neither signal nor
abundant, -yet in this respect he is not without glorious
rewrd. By his wise and holy adraonitiom?' during his
last days, he accomplished much that rejoices his friends.
His ministers are the better and will be the more suc-
cessful for having known him. Hi's parents and sisters
received a fresh baptism of holy fire under the sanctified
power of his saintly triumph. God honored the faith-
ful exhortiitions of his pale lips by giving hi'm seals to
his ministry from the sacred circle of his relations. He
was so meek and resigned and ready that the uncon-
verted looked upon him as an unanswerable vindication
of the ti'uth and el^cellence of the religion of the Saviour.
Their salvation is vastly more probable because they
26 MYRTLE LEAVES.
knew him — saw him — heard him. And oh, those lively
and pathetic admonitions that he uttered not long be-
fore he departed ! * Are *- they lost ? Is there no im-
pression left by them on the fond sorrowing hearts that
received them ? Thank' God ! such thing« never perish.
Their effect will be glorious forever. Flowers may droop
in the border, water may fail in the fountain, beauty
may fade from the lovely, gold may depart from the
coffer, jewels may fall from the crown, pleasures may
die in the bosom, honors may perish like blossoms,
friends may die or desert us, loved ones may moulder
in sepulchres, and the stars may be hurled from the
heavens ; but the words which are spoken for Jesus, the
prayers which are offered in confidence, the deeds which
are done for salvation, are all full of the spirit of
Heaven, shall be fostered by ministering angels, shall
themselves be angels of mercy, shall live, while a mortal ^
is living, shall shine with resplendence at the Judgment,
and stamped with immortality, shall at last become
jewels in' the golden crowns of the ransomed. Thii^e
hallowed words, those inspired admonitions of his, Shall
not perish. Though they be forgotten, yet shall they
As his end drew near, aftei- disposing of souvenirs to
liis friends; he requested that the mon^y in his purs-c
should be given to the Missionary Cause. How beauti-
ful was this dying offering ! It teaches us where his
heart was, and we pray and trust that God will own and
prosper the gift. He also requested his father, when it
should be practicable, to build a hous# of worship in an
adjacent community, whose peo|>lc were not al)le to
A SERMON. 27
build a Buitable one for themselves. Here T\e have rich
cause for rejoicing in the prospect of his usefulness.
' Go, build that church ! It shall be his monument. Let
it bear his name ! Place a cenotaphs there that shall
tell to those vfho gather around its altar,' how the piety
of a young and noble soul in the death-liQur remember-
ed the spiritual interests of his neighbT)rs, and by one
consecrated request, thus established a mighty instru-
mentality for their salvation. ' There he, though dead,
shall speak. Thel-e shall he, though in Heaven, bless
humafiity and glorify God on earth. The songs and
prayers and sermons of that church shall be the trophies
of his fidelity and righteousness- The converts of that
^Itar shalj bless his memory and honor and cherish hfin
as the instruiT^cnt of their eternal happiness. There
many shall be saved, and of them shall rise up ministers,
who shall bear the glad tidings to other churches and
other people ; and thus the whitewinged seed; which was
first nurtured in one young heart, shall be multiplied
and scattered over new fields — distant fields — ever-
widening fields, until time is ended and the angels of
the Lord shall shout the *niarvest Home." Oh, I
would rather build a churcli than build a pyramid.
I'd rather be the builder of a church than . the founder
of the proudest dynasty of earth. Of. course, when he
had lived so well he was ready to die. He worked out
his salvation with fear and trembling before God.
In his more immediate decline, he gave the most
gratifying- evidences tiiat all was well. Sometimes he«»
appeared anxious to depart and be with the Lord. Said
he at one time, '^' Pa, I tliought I should be afraid to
28 MYRTLE LEAVES.
die." Hifc fear vas lost in faith and love. On asking
me to pray for bim, which he frequently did in his last
days, he once said — *'now Bro. M , I want you to
offer me up." 1 ^marked to him, "it will not be long
before we all pass over the ri\*er;" and he replied — "I
wish I was on, the Bridge now." That was a touching
nnd sublime senti"nient of bis, "mother, father, ^sisters,
brothers, hnt- God first.'' To his , mother he repeated
those precious lines :
" Bright angele art- from 'glory come,
They're round tny bed,, they're in uiy rooui, *
Thov Wiiit to waft my spirit hoiiie, /
To those who are bereaved in- his death, let me say —
fchcd no bitter tears for him. If you weep at aU, shed
tears that are sweet with gratitude and *hope. "His
spirit drinks new life and light, 'mid bowers of endless
bloom:" Whenever you think of him, think also of his
blissful home in the skies, and pray and truyt that at
the last you, too, may triumph and join him in Heaven
to part no more. To his friends and to all. I devoutly
recommend the example of his life, earnestly praying
that they may not delay to give tlioir hearts to the
Saviour, that they too may accomplish i\\<\ momentous
purposes of life and roign with him 'and all the whke-
robcd ransomed in the happy and glorious City of God I
€^e l^olg ^j^icltJ.
'•How fileop the brave who sink to r<58l.
By all their country's wishes blest ?
When Spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to decH their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod,
By fairy hands thnir knell is rung, ^
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; ,
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bles3 the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there." •
Among those who promptly repponded to the first cati
of our country in the struggle for independence, was
Lieut. M , of Orange county, North Carolina. —
He joined the 6th N. C. Regiment, under the bi'avo and
lamented Colonel Fisher. While the regiment was in
the camp of ins^truction, I visited the beautiful and hap-
py home which he had exchanged for the tented field.
The warm, true hearts he had left behind him were re-
signed and hopeful — though affection would whisper to
thern of the. trials ho would suffer, and the dangers he
would meet. When I was leaving, a loving and piou^i
sister said, '^Preston tells me that his Bible i*s too larofi
to be, carried- in his breast-pocket, and I wib'h you to
procure a small, neat Testament for him before he leaves
for Virginia. Bibles have (nimed hallif, and tnay da 8o
again.'' I promisUed to conaply — au-i then with a smile,
.^n MYRTLE LEAVE?.
which betrayed a sister's love and a Christian's faith,
she bade me adieu. In my effort to obtain a suitable
Testament, 1 was' unsuccessful, and the young soldier
kept the Bible as his companion in the dread trials
which were before him. A few days only passed away,
ere he and his comrades were marshalled in the battle's
front on the Plains of Manassas. When the charge was
•ordered, he bravely passed to the onset, and with waving
sword and thrilling voice, cheered and rallied the hero-
ic column as it staggered before the fiery storm. Ere
long, while standing by a battery from which the enemy
had been driven, he was seen to raise his hand sudden-
ly to his breast, then to stager and fall. A ball had
struck him. He was borne from the field to the hospi^
tal, and after a slight examination pronounced mortally
wounded. The surgeon, however, discovered that the
hz]\ had sti'uek his Bible, and its force and direction
seemed to have been so affected by it, that he was saved
from insfatit death. When this was known, how thank>
fulwas she who o-ave him that blessed volume! And
how I rejoiced that I could not find a- Testament, for
that would have been so small that it might not have
shielded his heart ! In this we saw the hand of the
Father, and were thankful. But the wound was fatal,
and when the battle's enthusiasm was over, he feared
that he would not recover. It was then that as he
looked within his bosom, he realized his need of the sym-
pathy of a greater than man. Amid the confusion and
tumult and suffering around him, he earnestly looked to
the Mercy-Seat, and through the merits of, his Saviour,
leaned his spirit on the bosom of Infiaite Love. As his
THE HOLY SHIELD. 31
mortal life was ebbing out at that ghastly wound on his
. breast, eternal life came to him through the mercy of
Heaven, as it healed the wounds of -his soul. Watch-
ing by his death-couch I heard words of triumph from his
panting lips that it is very sweet to remember. Those
words were made more beautiful and eloquent by' the
spirit-splendor which beamed in his dark eye, and spread
like celestial radiance over his calm and manly face.
He told me that he had been pardoned since he was
wounded. "I believe," said he, ''lam numbered amonc^
those who are embraced in His mercy." With meltino-
emphasis he quoted some stanzas of poetry— a farewell
address to his distant mother. But a short time before
he died, he turned to his faithful servant and said
"There is a land where the wicked cease from troublino*
and the weary are at rest." None but those who heard
him can ever know what deep and powerful meaning he
gave those precious words. He spoke like one who had
fled to that refuge, and was already reclining, on the
bosom of that heavenly rest. It was far more like the
voice of experience than the voice of faith.
So talented, so heroic, so kind — it was sad to
strangers to see him die — 'twas sadder far for the friend
who had joined him in the pleasures of boyhood, and
shared with him the sacred dreams of youth ! He has
fallen in the first of his fields, but he has not fallen for-
"He sleeps his last sleep— he has fought his last battle,"
bu t it cannot be said of him that
"No sound can awake him to glory again ;"
for in that day of the victory* of the ransomed over the
82 MYRTLK LEAVKH.
last and greatest foe, lie shall be suinmoried to tlie
shining ranks by the celestial clarion, and be crowned
with honors which shall be increasing in rapture and
glory, ■ '
'When victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems
Shall blend in common dust."
This assurance is sacredly cherished by the bereaved
and riven hearts that Btill weep by his tomb. There i»
no genuine balm in any other thought. We would have
our friends and kindred fall, if fall they must, la their
country's defence, with^ name unsullied and honor un-
dimmed ; but more patriotism ai\d daring cannot shed
the light of immortal hope above their slumbering dust,
or lead their nSble spirits to a Kome of everlasting hap=
piness. It is well to receive the laurel-wreath for devo-
tion to a just and righteous cause— it isinfitiltely better
to be crowni'd with the chaplet of immortality in a land
v,b03e honors perish not forever.
There 3^3u'll meet him again, dear "mother" wnd "sisters,"
Whore iho war cry will call him away, never more ;
Wh'/re the rude suund of battle forever is silencwl,
Wh re you'll know him aj:d h-ve him as you have ht.^jolofore.
M'e kuow Lhut Uie household is dreary wiihovit him.
And the chain 1% r ow broken of fond, earthly love ;
But the links th:it are severeO. will be reunited
In Heaven, r-.vveT Keavenj that bright home aboTo,
^i)t Bream ofjpait^.
I came from the churchyard, where I had just seen
them place a beloved friend in the tomb. Everything
looked sad to me.. Shadows settled upon the flowers
and the sunshine. Every object was mantled with a
solemn gloom. My soul was unquiet — I could. not rest.
I wandered away to the grove and sat down beneath a
large oak, whose shade had fallen, in better days, on
many a scene of pleasure, which I had shared with him
who was now no more. Recollections of the past clus
tered thickly around me. The little streamlet ran mer-
rily on as before, and the birds on the green boughs
above me, sang as sweetly as ever ; but their joyousncss
only rendered my sadness more depressing, and soon I
thought, that even the rippling of the waters and warb-
ling of the birds fell plaintive and dirge-like on my ear.
I wept while I remembered. I 'wept that I had lost so
much. I wept that one so innocent and loved should
have suffered so much, and died so soon.
^Vith tears still standing on my cheek, a strange en-
chantment gathered over my soul, and I dreamed. It
was not the freak of a wayward fancy sporting over
slumbering reason ; it was a dream in which fancy and
reason went together and took truth for their guide.
T etood in the centre of a vast and terrible hall— »
3i MYRTLE LEAVjESt
Prom the hideous objects and spectacles around me, I
thought it was a grand hospital for the -world. I was
shocked and frightened. I gazed around, bewildered
and shuddering, and was seeking a way to escaj e, when
I saw a white-robed being, with a sweet, T;miling face,
approaching me. There was something in her look so
gentle and enchaining, that I was instantly spell-bound,
and almost forgot the frightful circum.stances around
me. I saw that she would s^peak, and I listened. A
thought of heaven came,, when she spoke ; her voice
Bounded so unearthly, so mellifluous. Fixing her ten-
der eyes upon^e, she said: ''I saw that you were af-
frighted and confounded,, my child, and I have come to
appease your fears pnd explain the mystery of this
dreadful picture. I am the Angel of Mercy, and this
is the Temple of Affliction. In order that you may
appreciate the knowledge I am about to impart, it is
necessary that you bear with me, while- 1 rehearse to
you some of the dealings of the Father of love with his
creatur>s, throughout past ages. It is through his mer-
cy that man is blessed with ^religion, but, strange to
Bay, that religion which is destined to deliver man from
evil and sufiering, is, in^ a high sense, the child of trou-
ble — the daughter of sorrow and trial. The Lord,
manifestng the worthlessness of the niftrtal when con-
trasted with that which sliall live forever, and inculca-
ting the truth that the earthly is only valuable in pro-
portion as it is used to secure the heaven'y, has intro-
duced, established, and promulgated the truths which
concern the soul, through sacrifice and suffering as fa-
vorite means. Do you remember the history of the
THB DREAM OF FAITH. 95
Church of God ? . The Father of the faithful was or-
dered to make an offering of a dear child in whom his
fondest hope and affection were centred. To have giv-
en him up to be slain by another would have been too
much for a parent's heart ; but, worse than this, he was
commanded to deal the death-blow himself. Oh, what
were the pangs of that old man's breast ! and what the
anguish and despair of. the youth as the father's strong
arm caught him, pressed him upon the altar, and bound
the cords fast around him ! It was not till the father
had taken the knife to pierce the sacrifice, that the an-
gel called to him out of Heaven, and bade him do his
child no harm.
"Years passed away, and the son of this rescued boy
was called to moufn in hopeless sorrow over the death
(as he thought) of his fcivorite son. This son was sold
by cruel brethren into the hands of strangers. In the
morning, he was the idol of a fond parent's love, and
the happy recipient of all the joys of a pleasant home ;
in a few short hours, he was torn away from the scenes
and friends he loved, and boi^ie by the heartless o"ver
the desert sands and sold into cruel bondage. But
Heaven withheld its bounties, and there was a famine
in the land of his father. His brethren were sent to
Egypt to obtain supplies. Meanwhile, though highly
honored, he suffered some severe crosses and trials. In
th^ course of a few. years, this' visit was followed by the
sore and galling servitude of all Israel to the yoke of
the Egyptians — by fiery and destructive plagues among
their oppressors — by the overthrow of king and subjects,
by the ayengiug wavei of the sea, and by all th© diffi-
86 MTRTLB- LEAVES.
cuUies, privations, struggles, dangers, and calamities of
the pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Here and there les-
sons of divine truth were written with blood on the
desert sands, and the graves of the faithless proclaimed
the power, justice and terror of the Lord. When the
tribes had reached the promised Canaan, their history
was still marked by ifiany bloody conflicts and misfor-
tunes, by overthrows and captivities. Many of them,
and especially their prophets, were ruthlessly maltreated.
They were subjected to poverty, humiliation, cruelties,
and martyrdom. They suffered the hate and injuries
of the nations ai-ound them, simply because they were
the chosen people of the true God, and would not re-
nounce their faith. Some were Hortured, not accepting
deliverance.' ^Others had trial of cruel mockings and
scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonment ;
they were stoned, they were sawn agunder, were tempt-
ed, were slain with the sword ; they wandered about in
sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tor-
mented ; they wandered in deserts and in mountains,
and in dens and caves of the earth.
"Thus, you see, that the Church floated for centuries
upon the tears and blood of her children. Thus it was
till Jesus came. Now, mark the history of the Redeem-
er, and the Church after his^ death.
"He was born in a manger. While yet an infant, his
parents were forced to flee in anxiety and trouble, and
bear him off from the bloodthirsty miscreants whom
Herod sent to slay him. His ministry was one of sac--
rlfice and affliction, both of body and spirit, llovf long
he fftsted and yraytd in the wild©rne«i I How the jpeo-
THB IVUBAM OF FAITH. 87
pile reviled him and persecuted him ! See him in tho
anguished writhings of Gethsemane as his *soul is ex-
cfefeding sorrowful, even unto death !* Behold him con-
demned, though innocent, at the bar of Pilate, and mark
the crown of thorns, the mock sceptre, tho spitting and
scourging, the toilsome, fainting ascent of Calvary, and
the horrible tragedy on the cross !
" His apostles and disciples suffered much before he
was taken from tliem ; but their trials were greater when
he was gone. It was a dark and dreadful season with
them while he slept in the sepulchre, and they thought
their hopes were buried with him forever. They after-
wards mef witk relentless opposition, oppression, ^nd
persecution wherever they w'ent. They were frequent-
ly reviled, slandered, cursed, hated, scourged, imprison-
ed, sioned, burned, crucified, beheaded. The same was
the fate of the faithful for many years ; and while in
some places the standard of Christ was respected, in
others it was a badge of shame and death. On through
these years — through the -Reformation and other blood-
marked eras — this standard was borne by bleeding and
dying hands. Those who have achieved anything in
the blessed warfare, have been forced to yield to toil
and tribulation. Home and friends have been deserted
by thousands. Peace and quiet, and health and wealth,
have all been offered up.
" The blessings of the Christian Religion, therefore,
are trophies which were won by the noble, through the
help of God, from fire and storm."
The voice of the angel trembled frequently, during
this narration, and occasionally beautiful tears sparkled
SS MTRTLl LEATBa.
in her eyes and floTred down her cheeks. She paused
at the conclusion of the above sentence, and with a fold
of her pure robe, she slowly wiped away the tears, a&d
heaving a soft sigh which seemed to give relief, she re-
sumed : "Now, my child, you can better " understand
what means this Temple of Aflliction. Xjod is yet super-
intending all things, and bringing good out of evil. —
Here you see the .afflictions of those who are yet in the
sphere of my influence, and may, if they will, lay up
for themselves treasure in Heaven. Considered in both
a general and particular sense, God's providence is
transforming this bitterness and torture. These walls
are built of the tombstones, and the boaes of those who
have fallen in the service of God. The basement bor
neath us is the mammoth cave of death, made of the
graves of the faithful. Its covering is a cloud of gjoom,
composed of the shadows and darkness and palls which
have been produced by the sorrows of the people of
God. Tho curtains in the windows, and the banner
that floats from its dismal dome, are the drapery of
mourning and the winding-sheets of the dead. The
flowers and pictures and trappings which adorn it, are
painted with the blood which has been wrung from hearts
by violence and woe. There is a vast machinery in the
whole building, whose wheels arc built out of blasted
hopes, withered joys, and broken hearts. These wheeli
are driven by a stream of tears, which rolls its wild cur-
rent through tho base. The din which you hear is the
mingled sighs and groans, and cries and shrieks of the
struggling and unfortunate. All over this Temple are
victims of misery, misfortune, and death. Yet, strange
THE DREAM 01? FAIin. 39
though it feeem, God is here, and all these are yet hles3«
ed with his sympathy. Do you wonder? Then know,
that though this is the Temple of Affliction,. it is like-
Vfiso a birthplace, a fountain of glory. The Father
brought no sin or evil into the world, but now that they
are here through man's disobedience, He is bringing
glory out of them, by using them to secure man's hap-
piness. 'Behold, happy is the man whom the Lord
correcteth ; therefore, despise not thou the chastening"
of the Almighty ; for he maketh sore and bindeth up ;
he woundeth, and. his hands make whole,' and many "a
tongue has been heard to say in tones of grateful sub-
mission, * It is good for me that I have been afflicted.'
''Midst pleasure, plenty, and success,
freely you take from Hiiii who lends j
You boast ihe bles^^ings you possess,
But scarcely thanic the One who sends;
But let affliction pour its smart,
How soon you quail b neath the rod !
With shattered pride and prostrate heart,
You seek the long forgotten God.'
'' It is the peculiar province of the Christian to * de-
ny himself and take up his cross.' He suffers here that
he may rejoice hereafter ; for though there is no abso-
lute merit in suffering, yet if it be properly borne -and
profited by, it will prove a blessing in'^the end.
" A great and good Christian said to his fellow pil-
grims, ' Our light affliction, which is but for :'^'^ ment,
worketh for us a far more exceeding and cteni.-l weight
of glory.' Now that is a wonderful truth, and explains
still further what you behold. Affliction woiks oat glo-
ry. Light affliction works out a wcigld of glory — an
40 MYRTLE LEAVES.
exceeding tveinht — afar more exceeding weight of glory.
A nioment's light affliction tvorJcs out an eternity of a
far more exceeding weight of glory. . Let every Chris-
tian, therefore, exclaim, 'I take pleasure in infirmities,
in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distres-
ees for, Christ's sake, for the sufierings of th,e present
time are not worthy to be compared with the glory
that shall be revealed in us.' Are you not willing to
sigh — ;if that sigh shall echo forever to the joy of your
soul in the music of heaven ? Will you not gladly bear
a few piercing pains, to have those pains succeeded by
the deathless raptures of eternal life ? Can you not
look calmly and resignedly on the tombs of ffiends,
when you thii^k, that those tombs are agents for the
court of heaven, and while they rob an earthly home,
may fill a mansion in the skie^ forever ? Oh, my child,
thank God for his severe as well as his tender dispensa-
tions, for rightly understood, he means them all for
Here the angel paused again, and she lifted her eyes
towards heaven, while a strange yet lovely brightness
flashed upon her features. She smiled too, as though
her words had met responsive sympathies from saints
or aagels in the skies. Once more she spoke, "Come
nearer, my child !" I stepped forward and stood
close by her side. "Now look up !" she said. I turned
my gaze upward, but saw nothing but the black cover-
ing of the temple. She then handed me a golden cup,
which she had kept concealed under her robe, contain-
ing some water from the stream of life, which flows from
beneath the throne of God, and she said, "This is the
THE DREAM OF FAITH. 41
cup of salvation ! Drink and look up again !''' 1 obeyed —
instead of the cloud of gloom, I saw a world of beauty
and glory. In it were the thousands of the happy and
redeemed. I heard strains'of music, so sweet that I
could not refrain from shouting. To my infinite delight,
I saw many of my departed friends there, and among
them, him whom I had just followed to the grave. They
knew me and waved their spirit hands around as if to
point me to the bliss and beauty of their homes, and
then they beckoned me to come. Oh ! I felt so happpy !
I stood gazing and shouting praises to God ! * * * But
soon I discovered that the scene grew dimmer and the mu-
sic fainter,^ and anon the sight and the sound faded away
together. I awoke, and my dream was ovej*. But it
made a lasting impression on my mind, and I have been
happier over since.
JF r e b e t (S n r .
How full of sad, yet inspiring meaning are those lit-
tle words, ''Forever gone !" If fully appreciated, they
appeal more eloquently to the heart than any elaborate
effort of the tongue or pen. They are written in count-
less places in the great volume of nature, and are spoken
by ten thousand tongues which are never still.
"Forever gone!" is heard in the lingering sound of
fading music — in the solemn dirge of the funeral bell —
in the busy pulsations of the living heart — in the spirit
voice of the zephyr as it steals away. " Forever gone !"
is softly, yet solemnly uttered by every fleeting moment
that passes, and is caught up and repeated by each joy
and privilege which that moment wafts on its angel
wings. It is whispered by the drooping petal of every
faded flower, as the eye seeks in vain for that beauty
which once enchanted the heart. The last lingering
sunbeams write it on the brow of heaven, and the rip-
pling streamlet murmurs it for its song. It is chanted
by the countless voice-harps which render vocal the dim,
but hallowed aisles of memory, and it mingles in the
lonely requiem of departed hopes and pleasures.
In maturer years, memory often recalls to the mind
the peaceful scenes and holy joys ot childhood, when in-
nocence marked every word and deed, and the heart
had never learned to fear. She paints the cheery smiles
FOREVFR GONE I " 43
that plajed upon the young face, and the lively antici-
pations -which rejoiced the hopefurb.osom. She tells
how the heart ran out in confidence and love towards
all the world, and how it loved the sweet flowers, with-
out dreaming that they concealed a thorn ; and as she
speaks, a soft enchantment steals upon the soul, which
makes us almost feel that we are living those blithesome,
happy hours over again ; but painful consciousness star-
th)s us with tlic truth — thy sunny childhood is "forev-
er gone !"
We look back over the changes of a few short years,
and behold the pleasures of our early friendships, hear
the gay sweet songs we then sang, and the words which
fell from guileless lips. We remember many a bright
reminiscence of our communings ;' how we toiled togeth-
er and played together, wept together and laughed to-
gether ; how we told each other our petty Ijopcs and.
fears, and talked ot the better days when we shoijkl be
older and larger and wiser. We feast on thes(!s recol-
lections till fancy places us again under the old oaks up-
on the hill, or by the quiet brook in the meadow- with
thqse same young friends around us, and we dream sooth-
ing dreams of our boyhood's days ; but soon, ah ! soon
there comes a voice from the lips of truth that says, thy
youth and its friends are alike " forever gone. "
I remember standing, on a still, bright day in the old
churchyard, with a bosom oppressed with grief. There
was a new-made grave waiting to receive its precious'
trust. A solemn gloom had settled on every brow. —
Tears flowed from eyes that seldom weep, and ever and
anon the shrill cry of heart-bleeding anguish fell hai'shly
44 MVKXLH LEAVEP.
upon my soul. A coffin was pijico btsided the giav©,
the lid removed, and a calm, smiling face uncovered for
the last time. A qluster of flowers rested upon her bo-
som — an emblem of her beauty and her early fall. —
Friends took a lingering, tearful, farewell look ; soma
kissed the cold, smiling lips, and the lid was closed. —
Then the coffiin was placed in the bosom of the grave.
Many a sweet evergreen followed it, '. liich whispered to
an ear that could not hear, '' We will .'^till remember
thee." Then I heai^ that strange hollovr sound of the
clods falling, and .scon a frcsli mound w:.-: raised, and
the burial was finished.
lie whose loss was greatest, the ciieo-Jv^ss, broken-
hearted one, turned away with an air of deepest sorrow,
and cried in those affecting tones .that the sorrowing
alone can utter, "Farewell ! Farewell I'
I went away, but not to foigefc. All that 1 had seen
or heard TN'as full of eloquerrce to inc. The sadness—
the t^rs-- the cries — the i)ale face — the coffin — the
liowers — the evergreen — the grave'; and most, that
piercing "farewell," all spoke plainly and mightily to
my soul, those strange words, "forever gone!"
These little words are always teaching us good lea-
sons. They bid us to^^improve the present, for that too,
like the past, will soon be gone. Ere long and we shall
seek the hopes, the pleasures, the privileges, tlie com-
munings, the friendships that noAv rejoice us, and cruel
change wilt tell us, "They are forever gone." Let the
duties of ^-day be done to-day, for each moment has its
own duties that cannot be crowded into anothei', and a
moment once gone, is " forever gone !"
rOREVER »ONB I 4^
Let tlie vouiJff be tauo-ht that chiUihood and yoiUh
are tiecting — that they are the Jbuds which determine
the blossoDib of riper years, and tlia't once gone, all their
hope?, privileges and opportunities are '' forever go»eI"
Let every heart be taught the sud trulh, that it;*
fi-icnds ai-e fast "passing away." Those now with us,
will soon, like those we 'have loved and lost in bygone
days, be numbered with the "forever goiic !''
If we would hlrss thorn ever, let us bless thcui now
while tliey are with us. If we would shed the light of
joy on sorrow's shades, if we wonfdhcal bleeding hearts,
-cheer drooping souls, dry burning toars, hush sorrowi'ui
sighs, plant fiowors of peace, 'and do whatever good wo
c^;n to those around us, lot us do it now ; else they too
Avill soon be, thoirgh not too far for the heart to love,
yet too far for the hand to bless them. Ijtt us not speak
to them in words that we would not love to remember
were they gone. Let us give them smiles instead of
frowns ; joy instead of grief; for when friends are gone,
it will be very painful to have^the unkind words that w«
epoke to tltem sounding in liarfh echoes in our hearts,
audthe spectres of the cruel injuries we did them haunt-
ing our vision.
Another lesson of tliese little words is, that wc should
not link our hopes of happiness to the things of time.
" IM rather make
-My bowf'r upon sotno icy lako,
When th>>.v..ing suns b^gin to shine.'"
Who'd build upon the frozen streuui,
Who kno^V5 the morrow's melting l;t;unt
May sink hi> hOiDO bonoath Iho wave ".'
\Vho'd risk bis hoperf upon a tiower,
4€ MYRTLE LEAVES.
That friphlj bloomR at morning honr,
And dio8 upon tho lap of eve ?
"Who'd choose a ?uii of joy that nirty
Be dimmed and clouded all the daj,
Then set so soon and set forever ?
Who'd blend his fortune with a droara,
Which lilce the ignis fatuus flame
.Soon llitteth and returneth never?
Yet sooner oft, than flaming firo
Can melt the ice — or chilly air
Of winter blight the tender bloom —
Ere Hitting cloud can dim a ray —
• Or waking visions flash away —
Eiirth's hopes iire lost in cheerless doom
Oh ! trust not earth, however beautiful and promis- ,
ing ! Heaven, and heaven only, is worthy of our confi-
dence and desire. Let us, with the hope and faith of
Christians, seek for a lionie in heaven, for "a city that
liath foundations, whoso buikler and maker is God;"
and then when our pilgrimage is ended, the conscious-
ness of the smiles of an approving Father, -shall sink
upon the soul in that dark hour like a breath from hea-
ven ; and the good angels shall point us to the tears and
toils, the sighs and strife, the frowns and fears, the dan-
gers and dread, tho prayers and pains of earth, and
shout in a 'tongue that shall awaken glory in the soul,
'^ Forever gone !" And in after years, when memory
robed in the drapery of mourning, steals up to those
who knew and loved us, and Vhispers tenderly yet truly,
that we are " forever gone !" a sweeter voice than mem-
ory's shall answer from tho spirit land, "Forever gone
from earth — forever saved in heaven!"
Ctfjcic is no Place liftc IKJomr-
''ThrrkIs no place like Iiomo," sang poor Pajiie,
who never had a home, and died in a land of strangers ;
and, to the touching sentiment, millions have responded,
— ^'Itis true."'
" There js no place like homo," for kindness, sympa-
thy and affection. It is the unsealed fountain of ths
loveliest emotions of the human heart, the theatre of
the most enchaining and affecting deeds. It is the place
•where a mother's love is unveiled in all its tenderness
and power, showering upon the soul the holiest and
sweetest blessings of life ; for there is no friend, this
side of Heaven, like a mother, and there are no words
so piX)cious nor deeds so true and kind as hcr's. I have
ever felt a fervent sympathy for tlM)se who early lost a
mother, for there are rich treasuries of love, and joy,
and hope within us and around us, which must remain
forever closed, if there be not a mother s hand to unlock
At home there are many other sources of pleasure
and peace. Who does not rejoice that ho can share au
affectionate father's counsel and care T What is warmer
and dearer than a fond companion's love ? What is
sweeter and purer than a sibt)r*8 smile, a sister's kiss, a
sister's tear ? What is stronger and truer than a broth-
er's devotion? Some, if not all of these, are generally
48 MYRTLE LEAVES.
enjoje«l at home. There all are blended bj a iamo-
nes3 of fortune, interest, hope, fear, pleasure and datj.
We live together, and love together,' till all our hearts
are sacredly united, and we have "a sweet existence in
each other's being." There we confide without fear of
betrayal, and meet with tokens of sympathy iwnd affec-
tion that we know are sincere.
" There is no place like home," because there we can
enjoy a tranquil freedom from the harsh tumults and
strifes of the loud, rude world. From this cause, it af-
fords many peculiar enjoyments which the world cannot
give. Innocence and purity are enshrined in its plea-
isur^s, and oftentimes contentment lores to smile upon
the bosom which loves the charms of home.
" There is no place like home," because every object
in it and around it is hallowed by sacred memories. It
has a thousand magic tongues, which softly and enchant-
ingly whisper the reminiscences of bygone days. If we
visit itj after months or years of absence, the meadows,
the streams, the hills, the valleys, the grove, the garden,
the vines and the flowers all seem to greet us gladly,
and welcome us to their enjoyment again. " There is
no place like home." We often feel there as we do not,
and cannot, feel elsewhere on earth. The affection for
it takes up its abode in the heart, in the halcyon dayg
of innocent hopes and loves — remjiins there as the year*
pass by and the heart grows old — and yields its place
in after years to no struggle, nor storm, nor fate.
It is a precious relic of Eden, — a love-crowned type
of Heaven. All who have a home, albeit it be hamblo
and poor, may say sincerely :
THERE 13 NO PLACE LIKE HOME. 49
'•The dearest spot on earth to mo,
Is home, sweet. home."
But, while all this is true, it is subject to influences,
changes, accidents and necessities which render it sadly,
aje painfully unreliable. It may be taken from us.
Fire may consume it. Violence may djeface or destroy
it. Misfortune or poverty may force us to depart from
it, to give it into the hands of strangers, and with weep-
ing eye and bleeding heart to bid adieu to its endear-
ments and charms forever. The common, but severe,
duties of life will often call us away from it, to join the
toils and trials of a striving world. We may at any mo-
ment, 7nust, frequently at best, be called away from
home ; and home may suddenly, and at any time, be
taken from us.
AjSliction often disturbs and' destroys the tranquil
peace and joy of home. ^ Fears and forebodings cast^
shadows and darkness in its cheerful halls. Scenes
transpire which make every loving heart quiver with
fear or thrill with anguish. Sickness comes, and as it
gradually undermines the hopes and prospects of those
we love most dearly, our bosoms are torn with sympathy,
and we are very unhappy, although we are at home.^-
No joys, however hallowed, no affection, however pure
and strong, can bar the door to the entrance of death.
The merry laughter, the mirthful voices, must sometimes
change to the sighs and wailings of the broken hearted,
sorrowing around the funeral couch of the fondly loved*
If we go away and remain for a few short years, and
then return, it may be that like the hapless wanderer of
** We enter into our ?ioitse, our hojne no more,
(For without hearts there is no home,) and feel
50 MYRTLE LEAVER.
Tbe Folitudc of passing our own door
Without a welcome."
Yes, *' without a v/elcomc," at least from some who bid
lis aclieii when wc left. We ask for them, and the onlj
answer is a tearful eye and a trembling finger pointing
to the graves beneath the cedars on the hill.
It is also our doom to die. Time flies swiftly, and
our years, at most, are few and brief. Even if home
were all that heart can wish, without accident, trouble
or change, yet it is unworthy of too much confidence
and love, for we must. soon bid it farewell forever.
iVlas, that all this is true ! The soul needs a home of
peace, rest, comfort and joy. Where, oh where, shall
it find the precious, priceless boon-?
" Oh where shall the soul find relief from its foes,
A shelter of safety, a home of repose ?
Can Earth's highest summit, or deepest hid vale,
Give a refuge where sorrow nor sin can assail ?
No, no, there's no homo ;
There is no home^n earth ;
The soul has no home.
" Shall it leave the low earth, and 3oar to the sky,
And seek for a*home in the mansions on high ?
In the bright realm? of bliss shall a refug? be given
And the soul Had a home in the mansions of Heaven ?
Yes, yes there is a home ;
There's a home in high Heaven ;
The sou! has a home.
"Oh, holy and sweet its rest shall be there,
Free forever from sorrow, from sin, and from car-^ ;
And the loud hallelujahs of angels shall rise,
.'i'o welcome the soul to its home in the skies.
Home ; home ; sweet, sweet home !
The bosom of God
Is the home of the soul."
THBRl IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME. t51
Yes ; thank God forever ! ^ There is a home for the
weary pilgrim — a home for the homeless. There is a
home in Heaven beautiful and blissful — dimmed by no
shadows — troubled by no fears, and disturbed by no
power of sin forever ! A home in Heaven, with the
loved ones who have gone before us, and with the loved
ones who are going with us ! Oh, for a homo in the
Glory land ! God offers a title to it, written on the
pages of mercy, with a pen of Eternal truth, dipped in
the blood of Jesus. We have birt to ask and it is giveu
— but to seek as He has taught us, and we shall find it
Oh, for & heart that seeks the sacred gloom.
That hovers round the precincts of the tomb i
' While fancj', mnsing there, sees visions bright.
In death discovering; life, in darkness, light.
What though the chilling blasts of winter's day
Forbid the garden longer to be gay ? ^
Of winter yet I'll not refuse to sing,
Thus to be followed by Eternal Spring.
Nearly six thousand years ago, when the earth had
no lifeless human form slumbering in her bosom, two
brothers were walking together in the fields, when one
of them, prompted by jealousy and envy, rushed upon
the other and slew him. Their father heard cries for
mercy and help, and ran as quickly as possible to the
spot. Alas ! he came too late. His boy gave no re-
sponsive word or look, when he called him — he was
dead. With the deep grief ^that only a father
knows, he fell upon his face, and wept the first tears
ever shed over the dead. Slowly and sadly he took
him in his arms, and carried him and laid him down
by the cool brookside. Next he called the companion
of his joys and sorrows. The voice she heard was
strange and startling, and she came in haste and fear.
As she drew near and saw her husband, she cried,
"Why didst thou call me ?" The father's grief, grown
THK grave! ^3
Stronger from sympathy, was too powerful for him to
speak. So, with streaming eyes, he simjoly poin t ed
the spiritless form. The mother's eye and heart soon
read it all, and there was bitter wailing and wringing of
The first wild gush of sorrow over, they washed the
blood from his bruised face and clotted hair, and talked
about his goodness and piety, and tried to console one
another with sympathy and hope. Then they began
to prepare for the burial. The mother made him a
winding-sheet out of the forest leaves,' and, gathering
some flowers, wreathed a beautiful little chaplet around
his brow. While she was making that wreath, different
griefs mingled in her bosom, for every flower was asso-
ciated with painful recollections of her lost home in Eden.
The father dug a little rude grave, and there was scarce-
ly a clod upturned on which there did not fall a tear.
When it was done, he brought their boy and laid him
gently in its bosom. After a long, sad look, they both
said, "Farewell," and then threw in the clods, and soon
the mound was raised above him. It was finished, and
they kneeled down and prayed. That was the First
There is something strange, afl*ecting, and tremen-
dous in the idea of the First Grave, ' It stands forth*
as a terrible embodiment of mortal destiny — an awful
necessity, folding in its bosom, like the original sin that
caused it, the seed of a gloom and terror which should
inevitably connect itself with the fortunes of each and
all of the children of men to the last moment of time.
Could one with proph«ti« ken hav« »tood beside that
64 MYRTLE LEAVES.
grave and scanned the widening future, what a ;wild,
withering, and w^oful panorama would have spread be-
fore him ! As he glanced over grave-yards, cemetei'ies,
battle-fields, and a thousand times ten thousand burial
places, he would have shouted in astonishment and bit-
terness, ^'Oh, Grave ! Thy victories I Thy victories t
Go in fancy to the first grave. Thence descend with
perishing generations along the numberless pathways
of hum an life — ^isitall the scenes and homes of humanity.
Wander with the first nomad tribes in an uncultured and
almost unpeopled world. Visit the first rude habitations
of man. Linger about their villages and towns and
cities. March with all the battling hosts, who in every
age have gone forth to destroy. Float with every bark
that ever rode a wave. On' every side and all along
you will see the grave — the cold, ruthless, mighty grave.
Remember that everything and every place which con-
tains the relics of a lifeless human body, is in reality a
grave. If you look in, you will discover that it has
won stupendous trophies. It boasts among its victims
all classes of mankind. It has emperors and empresses,
kings and queens, dukes and dutchesses, popes and car-
dinals, priests and apostles, heroes and conquerors,
presidents and vice-presidents, the honored, the praised,
the proud, the wealthy, the beautiful, the cherished,
the youthful, the middle-aged, the old, the fortunate,
the hapless, the pagan, the Mohamedan, the infidel, the
atheist, the saint and sinner, all of every class, of every
age, of every tongue, of every faith, of every fortune,
<>f every conduct and character, who have lived and
THE GRAVE. 55
died in nearly sixty hundred years ! How much beauty,
innocence, loveliness, worth, wealth, power, and" great-
ness slumber in its earth-walls ! Are not its victories
great ? Oh how great ! Bui most sadly and powerfully
do we realize^its terrible ravages when we remember
that it has won many from our circles, from our homes ;
and that every hearthstone has its tombstone. It hide^
faces that smiled on us, tongues that comforted and
cheered us, hearts that loved and blessed us. Oh Grave !
Thy victory ! Thy victory !
But it not only holds the dust of the departed — it
powerfully affects the living. It not only keeps the
still tongues of many fallen ; it makes the tongues ol
the living speak strange words. It not only boasts its
millions of pulseless bosoms; -it wildly sports with the
most sacred feelings of living hearts. Millions of eyes
more than behold to-day's sunshine, have dropped the
tear beside'it. Far more tongues than now babble the
many dialects of earth, have thrown the hollow accents
of grief into its vaults. We ourselves have witnessed
many a scene beside it which we can never forget. We
have seen the feeble and the strong bowed down together,
and sinking and groahiiig beneath grim sorrow's weight,
as they gazed into its bosom. How many painful part-
ings have occurred here! How many last looks, last
farewells, last kisses! I once stood by the grave of a
beautiful young lady, and saw her brother come and
take a wishful, tearful, final lock at her sweet, pale face.
He loved that face still, it had so often smiled in gent-
lest affection upon him. As he thought of 'the clods
80 soon to hide her forever , from his sight, ho cried
66 MYRTLE LEAVF.S.
in a wild wail of agony, *' Qh, is it the last time ? is it
the last time ?". Yes ; the grave is the scene of behold-
ing the loved and cherished for the last time. Does
not all this prove that its victories aie terrible' and
We must view it In a light that is still more absorb-
ing and startling to us. We are not only interested in
what it has done, but what it will do. All who are now
alive may say with the Patriarch, "I know that thou
wilt bring me* to death, and to the house appointed for
all the living."
True it is our
** Time is fleeting,
And our heart«, thougli stout and .brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."
When a few short years have fled, the thousand mil-
lions which earth can claim to-day, will all have found
resting places in her bosom. With these is our doom.
It must add our forms to its trophies — must enfold us
in its monstrous arms. I shudder at the thought ! —
Must I go to the long sleep of the grave ? Is there no
way for me to escape it ? Am I bound to miike it my
home ? If I must, is there no" soothing solace for such
a fate ? Is there nothing to give hope and fortitude to
the soul as it contemplates the coming death of its earth
conip anion ? There is. " Thanks be unto God who
giveth U8 the victory^ through our Lord Jesus Christ!''
There is to be another and a greater victory— the vic-
tory over the grave.
How dearly I love religioB, when I come to these
THE GRAVE. 57
dark subjects and see how our Father in heaven haa
provided against t]ieni ! Look away to the future—^to
the last day of time ! ■ You stood in fancy by the first
in-ave, now stand above the last. Behold from that tho
multitudes of crumbling and- forgotten burial grounds
which have been built and filled in all ages ! Mark
every plaCe where the dust that once lived, reposes, and
instead of considering them as the cities and homes of
the dead, view them and reverence them as the hidden
harvest fields of immortality awaiting the coming of the
joyous angel reapers. God has told us that there shall
be a resurrection. The forms of tho just shall live again
in bliss and beauty. Ihe mouldering dust laughs in the
dream of itis glorious destiny. It is the sleeping seed
of a fadeless fioWer, resting until the vernal' dawn of the
eternal year of. God's salvation. It is ■ Avinter a littlo
^vhile, but the spring cometh. Think this as you stand
by the last" grave! Though the tomb contains much
that you love,. many that you^vould -see again, defy its
power! Turning your eye;^ from earth, behold that
■myriad host of the white winged songsters and messen-
gers of glojy, as they ]i6ver with trembling pinions
along the upper sky ! Among tliem are the happy spir-
its of the pious dead. They ghinco their pure vision at
the tombs beneath them, and then look with angelic
ardor at the signal angel. He lifts the trumpet to his
lip and gives a thrilling blnbt. " They start! Swift as
.' sunbeam they U.-Tiih dowQ to earth, da&h down the
tombstones, tear open the. quiverijjg graves, and catch
.up and bear away the bright and glittering bodies; and
as they mount the plains..of ligiit and soar to the throne
in the clouds, they look back in joy and triumph to the
startled, empty vaults, arid s^hout as saints and angclg
•••* >li crrav© ! vvhero'ifj thy viot^^rv '
" I hftTO iWMt thoughti of tht« I
The J com* around m« like the Toic« of loag ."
On % cold, dreary day in January, I visited Laura's
grare. As I approached it, lonely and musing, the
world grew more and more bleak and cheerless. The scat-
tered heaps of the melting snow seemed, in their rare-
ness and purity, fit emblems of piety in this world ; for
the folly and wickedness of men appear very great to
us, when we think of them "in a field of graves."
I leanedjagainst a willow, whose Weeping boughs hung
over the resting-place of my sweet friend. The cold
wind whistled through the palings, and chilled my brow,
reminding me of that cruel fortune, as I then thought
it, which took my loved and dear one from me. I wept,
too, as I stood there, for* I remembered warmly the
earlier and golden days, when Laura and I sported to-
gether in childhood's glee, and blessed each other's
hearts with kindness and love. Through the thick
tears that gathered I saw something bright and beauti-
ful at the foot of the mound. I brushed the tears away
and looked more closely. It was a little Hyacinth,
blooming there alone. As I viewed it, many thoughts,
both pleasant and painful, arose in my mind. I thought
it was a little jewel that indulgent Heaven had placed
upon the eold bogiQin of wiftt«r-«-'f9r Hoaydij oft^u gives
THE HYACINTH. 59
precious gifts to the unthankful and unkind. It was
blooming amid the wintry desolation around it, like the
flower in the deser* sands, a token of mercy, a proof
that God was there. It smiled upon all the dreariness
there, as though it had a hope and a consciousness which I
neither felt nor knew. I knew it would not live as long
as other flowers, spring flowers, for it nodded and trem-
bled in a chilling, blightitig wind. So many of the frail
and holy die the sooner for the trials and dangers that
their duties bring; but, like the flower, they come in
the time and fulfill the mission which Heaven designed,
and therefore it is all well.
While I mused* thus, it appeared to grow suddenly
brighter, and whispered to my soul in a spirit tongue,
"I emblem the dear one whose grave I adorn." Then
it became more touchingly eloquent thart before. Like
the heart of my friend, who slept beneath it, it was ten-
dcr and stainless. Like her, it was born in adversity
and doomed to lend its beauty ami charms and blessings
to those who neither gaVe nor promised any tender and
soothing return. Like her, it was bound to bloom and
fade, without the soft, genial influences of spring ; there
was no spring-time to her life, it was all winter. It was
far away from the cultured border and the rich par-
terre, alone amid the solitary tombs : so she lived in the
low-thatched cottage, with no honor or wealth or fortune,
almost unknowing and unknown.
But soon brighter thoughts came. Though it was
destined to droop and die so soon, yet, while it was
blooming, each petal pointed to the skies, like the liv-
ing hopes and dyin*; hands of Laura, Heaming in the
§<) MYRTLE LEAVWi.
grief-shade ^bicli overhung tht) grave, it nas a token df
that sweet thought which lies down with the departed
— like a raj of glory in the vaults of death — whig-
pering soothingly, hopefully back to the living,
'' The dead shall rise again.'' It came long before the
other flowers, so she s-hall arise with the white-robed
ransomed at the trumpet's /r*t thrilling blast.
Then I loved that little flower — ^fondly and fervently
I loved it ; and I bowed in gratitude, and blessed it and
kissed it ; and afterwards, lifting my heart to Heaven,
I thanked my Father for the language of the littld
grave-gem, and prayed that I might meet mj friend in
^^IjrJj not a Ceax\
'' Befor* thy heart might learn
In waywardness to itraj,
Bt-forQ thy foot c#uld turn
Tho d<rk ftnd downward way,
Ere sin m'jht wound thy breast,
Or sorrow wake tho ttar —
Hise to tlby home of rest
In yon cel«8tiftl sphi^rc. ,
' Rtfcause thy smile w-?* fair,
'^rhy lips and eyes so bright ;
f33cause thy cradle care
Wr9 such H fond delight ; *
^ball love, with weak embrace,
Thy heavenward flight detain ?
No, angel ! sGek|!tliy place
Amid yon cherub train." — Mr« Siqournet.
OcTAViA wept the early fall of her 8on, and Virgil
sang to^assuage her grief. * Though she was so over-
whelmed by the beauty and pathos of the poem that
she fainted xiit its close, yet she did not lose her sorrow
nor cease her bitter tears until she had grieved away
twelve dreary years and filled a mourner's 'grave. If
you have lost a sweet child, you are more fortunate than
Octavia in means of consolation. She received a tri-
butd from a noble bard, but you have a better tribute
from th« Saviour. Truth^^iternal truth-^chide^Jyoui^
62 MyRTLE LKATBS.
tears and smiles on all your heaveu-reaching hopes. .A
lonjr time ao;o Jesus said, " Suffer little children to corad
unto mo, and forhid them not; for of such is the king-
dom of heaven." Ever since that moment there has
been no room to doubt infant salvation. He taught
further, that unless the sinful were converted and be-
came as little children, they could not enter the king-
dom* Conversion certainly places a soul in a salvabls
state ; but conversion, acc(^'ding to the above, is neces-
sary before the accountable can become as little children;
therefore it is very clear that infants arc all in a con-
dition to be saved. I do not say they areregenerated —
I do affirm that they are in a justified state — and so far
as innocence is concerned, they are in the same rela-
tion to God as believers are. The whole truth is taught
in the following lines, which were written on the tomb-
stone of three infants :
" Bold iiifidelity, tura pale and die !
Bdneath this stone three infants' nihes he;
Haj — are they lost or saved ? .
If death's by sin, they've sinned, for they,ar« here ;
If Heaven's by fuith, in IlaaYen they can't ippoar ;
Oh reason, ho n dtprared !
R<Ycre the Bible's sacred page — the knot's untied ;
They died, for Adam sinned- they live for Josus died."
Then there is a great deal of sweet thought and fer-
vent oounsel, to parents who have lost the young and
sinless, in the assurance that they now, even noWy have
children in Heaven. " Whom the gods loved, die
young," sang the pantheist ; the Christian more truly
and touchingly says, God gives and takes because he
loves. He often gives till the heart of the parents bo-
•aB# NOT A TSAR. ' 63
oomde eompletelj enckained and absor)l>6d ; hd tftkos
up to Heaven then, that the parent's heart may follow.
He sometimes giyes till he sees that doating hearts are
forgetting him and worshipping the creature ; he callg
up home then, that he may reprove idolatry, and thus
save the wandering souls. " The Lord gave and the
Lord hath taken away; blessed be 'the name of th®
"He doubly died in that he died eo young," say a
one ; but the Christian saya rather, " He scarcely died,
in that he died so young." It is very sacred and very
sweet- to die young. It is to die ere the spacious beau-
ties of the world have charmed — ere the shadows of the
world's sorrows have darkened — the chambers of the
soul. It is to die ere the knowledge of the sweets of
meeting has prepared the heart to feel the pangs of
parting ; ere the cords of tender association, commun-
ion, sympathy and affection, have drawn close about th©
heart ; ere the love of this life and its enchanting scenes,
has possessed the bosom and won the worship of it8
deep emotions. In short, those who die young, have
the le88 of earth that they may have the more of Heav-
en. They die soon, that they may live soon. So far as
regards themselves, they only live to die, they only die
to live forever. They ^feel enough of pain to enablo
them to appreciate the joys of eternal life, und then go
happily^away to the full fruition.
5 ^God then was not cruel or unkind, when ho took
away your prattling boy — your laughing girl. Oh no ;
God was very kind. Notwithstanding those tears and
sobbings, those soul-bl«eding sorrowings of yours ; not^
•withstanding; that cheerless blank in tbo littlo home-cir
cle, and that lonely, gloomy silence there, because the
music of that little pratler greeted tlie ear no more, still,
he Avas very kind. Do you doubt it ? Do bligbt-ed love and
blighting sorrow make you doubt it ? Then look away
to the glowing realms of a better life ! Lift up an eyo
of holy fiiith and look to the christian's Heaven ! Be-
hold its fadeless beauties, its sparkling treasures, its
gleaming glories, its raptured legions. Listen at the
thrilling pceans of the blessed, the happy hallelujahs
of the immortal choirs, and when they hush their choral
chants, catch up the swelling .symphony of unnumbered
harps, as it rings from every grove, from every fount,
from every bower,' mount, m.insion aad throne ; and
while you gaze, and listen in deep, transporting joy —
Oh, then remember, know and fjel that thy child, thy
loved, thy los% thine own, dear, cherished child is there !
It wears a crown, it waves a palm, it strikes a harp, it
sing3 the anthem^ of the skies. V/a-^'nt God kind ? Yes ;
and you ought to dry your tei^r.^ and thank him. Your
child is. a cherub in glory. What could your Father
have done vath that chihl to its happiness and
yours? Then weep no more. Your sighs ought t<5 be
songs. Your grief ought to be gratitu^ 1
I know you vfould like to see your lo\ ca one again.
Y'ou want t© embrace it and pr^ss its pure lips once
more. Will you not then prepare to join it in its angel
abode ? If you would meet it there, it would tell you
all about its joys and raptures, show you the bright and
beautiful things which Jesus has given it; and sing, and
rejoice, and be happy with you forever. Amen I
Mn ifHottjet's €&rabe.
'< "Wo know that thd bowers are green and fair,
In the light of that 6ummer shore ; •
And we know that the Mother we lost is there-
She is i!//r''«— and she weepi no more."
I am kneeling by my mother's graye. How holy
the influence that sinks upon my heart ! Memory car-
ries me back to the days when she was with me, and
tells me of a thousand pleasures her sacred presence
gave me — pleasures I shall never know again — aad
sadness is upon my heart, and a tear is in my eye ;
but still it is sweet to be here. I feel her love as I
felt it in ray childhood — and all around is musical in its
silence like the language of affection that speaks in the
voiceless glance and smile of tenderness.
Ah Grave ! thou hast a precious treasure ! Within
thee are the hands that led me, the arms that embrat ed
me, the tongue that gently taught me, and the face
that smiled in holiest sympathy upon me. Alas ! and
shall I never see them any morej?
Be still ! my soul ; dost thou not hear spirit-echoea ?
This is, indeed, holy ground. I am nearer Heaven
here than at any other spot on earth. I feel that ehe
is near me, and yet I know that she is in heaven. Oh !
it is BW«et to be here. The Father !• strangely kind
aiiil my hearfe ii full ef melting lore.
Th«r«'i a raigLitj eloquensd prorikg td mj tpmt, a^
I kneel bj thy grare, dear mother, that w« shall moet
again I Glorious hopes appeal to thee, my soul, to
cheer thee in thy sorrows and make thee faithful unt«
death. Thou still hast her blessing and love ; for th«
prayers of a mother do not die when she dies, and th«
real heart and its sinless sympathies are never buried
in the tomb. Her love is purer and warm-«r now, foi
it Gom«s from "the sainted spirit shore." Thou shal
find her again in 'the bosom of bliss.'
C II s ! d t i n ♦
*'Away ! we know thut tears are vain,
That de-.th oe'er heeds nor hears distress ;
"Will this unteacli us [o complain,
Or mako or.e mourner w«ep the less ?"
So tender and affecting are the ties which bind the
hearts of friends together, that we weep even in the
death-chamber, and at tlie grave of the Christian.
Death demands a painful tribute, even when we know
that the forms which he presses to his chill j bosom
ehall one day spring from his palsied arms and shina
forever — and that th» spirits which once gave them
life and beauty, are already enjoying eternal freedom
and blessing. But there is so much consolation in the
belief of their present happiness — so much relief-in the
expectation of meeting and knowing them again, that
our tears are often sweet to our souls, and our sorrows
mingled with the dearest enjoyments. But alas ! there
are some graves — graves of those whom we have tea-
derly cherished — which are wept over by us as if veiled
in a gloom-cloud, untempered by the soothing light of
one single gleam of hope. Those whom they contain
spoke no cheering word to us while dying. They did
not bid us meet them ia a happier home, for they never
told us that they expected to dwtll in the beautiful
mansions of Heaven. Theie never was any promise
of «tern»l life shining ^^ their lives, and speaking from
♦keir lips. 0«r bitterest grief is called Mp by theii-
68 MYKTLE LEATES.
iiiemory. But is there not some solace fur us as vro
look with tearful eye upon their tomh ? Is there not
some alleviation of these sorrows which hang so heavily
jirouud our hearts? Shall we spend all our lives in
this troublous gloom ? No ! However true our hearts
— however deep and lingering our grief — there will be
a gradual change. As we engage in the duties of life
— mingle .with other friends and pass through the
changeful history of the next few months, our thoughts
will learn to wander from the mounful recollections
over which they are brooding now. Time will gently
'distil a genial balm upon our wounded hearts as it leads
us away from the first dark hours of our bereavement,
and familiariz«s us with those objects which now so
painfully recall the dear departed. We may not hope
to forget — indeed we would not, if we could, forget —
but we may learn to remember tliem with less of gloom
and grief and trouble than we suffer now. This is the
'common history of tli'e' bereaved.
But there is room for hope where many a depressed
and bleeding heart only dc.-pairs. The mercy of our
Heavenly Father is very wonderful, and the experience
of the sould of our friends is often very diffefent from
what appears; and therefore we may believe that many
a poor wicked'heart seeks for refuge in the blood of the
Ptedecraer in the last hours of its probation, and is re-
ceived -^nd blessed with eternal ransom. Let not this,
however, encourage the delusive dream of death-bed re-
pentance. That dream is too often broken by the aw-
ful knell of every privilege, hope nnd pleasure, and is
suddenly supplanted by tho startling and tr«m«ndous
realities of everlasting death. Perhaps the dying;
hour will be the most unfavorable for repentance and.
faith of all the hours of your life. Therefore if you have
any other opportunity to seek for pardon, do not post-
pone it to the last sti'uggle. Your soul at best will have
enough to do and bear then. Beware lost your last
words be those crushing ones which have fallen from
the anguished lips of thousands who deferred their're-
turn to God to the last of their lives — those heart-
breaking words, ' it is too Ikte ! it is too latt ! "
But there are probably many instances in which the
mortal affliction is graciously directed by our Fatlier to
the 'eternal salvation of the soul. As the repentant
malefactor looked upon the Saviour and trusted Him,
amid the pains of crucifixion, so many who have sunk
under fatal disease or received mortal wounds by acci-
dent or in battle, have turned their spirit eye to the
same Redeemer and through one earnest, ' whole-souled
trust in Him, felt the precious balm of redeeming love,
preparing the spirit to pass Jordan in safety and meet
the Lord with peace and joy and praise. Many sol-
diers who have fallen in the pending war, have found
their v ounds or sickness the ministers *of endless mercy;
and have risen from bloody plain or crowded hospital
to the blooming fields and shining homes of Heaven.
If there be room for hope, it is right that you should
dulge it to the relief of your stricken heart. Should
you ever reach Heaven, yon may be raptuously surprised
to find many there whose fate you now think phrouded
forever In despair. But your anticipations ot -a bliss-
ful future beyond thitlif«or« ofteB troubled, 'yjerhaps,
70' UVRHiil LllTBS.
hj ika tbou^t of the eternal separations wbiab if'iAl
oc<?ar ai the Judgment. You do not luulerstand now
how you could see those whomyou havo loved on earth,
consigned to endless naisery^ and still be without sym-
pathy and sorrow in your own heart. It is right that
iueh thoughts be entertained, for they will surely ren-
der you mor« true and untiring in your efforts to secure
the salvation of those friends who are yet in a. world of
hope. Oh, who will not freely make all needful sacri-
fiees and bear all necessary sufferings to save dear and
loved ones from such a fate I But fear not that the ca-
lamities which then befall your friends for their unfaith-
fulness will disturb the perfect- Isatisfaction of your
kf art, if you do the will of God in life and meet H-ia
»mile in Judgment. Natural ties— mere human friend-
iVips — unsanctified by the Spirit of Grace, will not b«
perpetuated in that Happy Land. They will all per-
ish at the threshold. They will live in the bosom of the
lest as shown by the parable of the rich man who pray- ,
ed for his surviving brothers, while he was suffering tke*
pains of perdition. The righteous need fear no such
fate. Their peace shall be unruffled and their pleas-
ures unmingled and full, God shall wipe all tears from
their eyes, and their ^'sorrow aad sighing shall flet
•way." He who has promised is able to fulfill, and
He will prove to «3 that His salvation is an all suflS-
cient balm for all our fears and woes. Whe7i the soul
M full of Ileavsn, thare lolU hi no TQ<jtn for trouhU or
OuV feelings towards the Sually impenitent, will be
Uke tkose wkick Ike lledeeiBer realiaetf. He loved tkeM
BO langli as it give 9m M« f«r tiiem ; m«w Sd Ib9li(»i4j
ik%m bauisbed forover frooi His peaeefnl prssoDCtt and
eoRdemned to «ternal tt«>«, and still His happiness ii t
?i?flf)rrf are STftri}.
I know that they are happy,
"With their angul piumajjo on ;
But my heart is v^ry desolate
To think that ihpy are gone.
What is the condition of the ransomed soul between
deatli and the resurrection ? Wherg ai'e now the spir-
its of our piou3 dead ? The forms to which they one*
gave life and beauty are slumbering in the grave, but
*' Doet thou art, to dust returntst,
Was not written of the soul. "
Fond and undying affection, still weeping and lonely,
frequently arises, and sadly asks, Where arc they f —
Memory — as she calls up from the epectral paat th«
visions of their cherished forms, and lowly hums th6
voices of their long since silent tongues — asks in affect-
ing earnestness. Where are they? Old, stifled emo-
tions, which once wept at the tomb and wailed in- heart-
felt sorrow, do often awake to life again, and inquire,
Where are they ? As we gaze upon the objects which
they treasured, and mingle in the scenes which they
once shared, those objects and scenes take each a nev-
eral tongue, and touchingly ask us, Where are they?
We know they are not unhappy, but wc nevertheleif
feel a sta'cng desire to know, the plaeeand nannor ef
WHBRS ARE THEY 7S
their existence. Several opinions liave been entertain-
ed upon this question. We will confine ourself to- the
consideration of those which at the present day are
more or less popular, pnssing bj the flimsy, specula-
tive theories of th« dreamer.
First, it m contended" by some that the disembodied
spirit rests in an unconscious, unfeeling state.
This is e*asily refuted. The parable of the rich man
and Lazarus is directly against it. '^And in hell, he
(that is, Diyea,) lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and
seeth Abraham afar off, andLazai'US in his bosom. And
he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on
me. and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip. of his
finger in water, and cool my tongue ; for I am torment-
ed in this -ilam?. But Abj-aha^n said. Son, remember
that thou in th}' lifetime rcoeivedst thy good things,
and likewise Lazarus «)vil thing*? ; but now he is cgju-
forted^ and thou ai^ tormented." Now this parable
was spoken by the. Saviour, and therefore does not teach
what is false. From it wo learn the following truths :
Departed spirits think, reason, and communicate
thought, for ''Abraham said," &;c. Secondly, they ore
capable of some feeling, for Lazarus was "comforted ;"
and the terin, comforted, means more thaninsensibihty.
Thirdly, they are capable of action ; for the rich man
prayed Abraham to "sc;i6? Lazarus," proving that he
regarded him truly as having the power of motion.
The facls associated with the Transfiguration of Je-
sus, arc againbt this tlieor}''. Wc are told that Moses
and Elias appeared with Christ on Mount Tabor. The
Apostles, as they aaw them, did not re;;ard th«m as
74 MYRTLE LBAVE0.
mere vapory, bcnselcsa existoucos, but as real, liriiig,
appreciating spirits, for they propoeed to erect taber-
nacles there for them ; and they tell us, moreover, that
they If ere ^Halking with Him."
Secondly, others contend that there is an intermedi-
By this is meant a spirit land, not on earth and not
in heaven — a sort of relay scene between this 'svorld and
perfect glory. I know of but one argument of any
plausibility in favor of this. That is, Christ told the
eonverted thief, ^'Tkis day thou shalt be with, me in
Paradise/' and after he was risen he told Mary to touch
him not, for he had not yet ascended to his Father* —
This is easily answered, if we consider, as appears pro-
per," that he meant in his warning to Mary, that he in
his body had not ascended. It was hie body which alio
was about to touch, and that to which he may hare aj^-
plied the remark. But this is explainable on several
other grounds. We pasi on to the arguments in favor
of what we think is the trme doctrine, viz. : that the
sanctified soul goes immediately from the death scene
to the highest heaven.
The following proofs from Scripture are plain and
"To be absent from the body is to bo present with
tfee Lord." Where is the Lord Jesus V "Received up
into glory." Then to be present with Him is to bo in
glory. Christ said to the thief, "This day thou shalt
be with me in Paradise." • The only question is, —
Where is Paradise ? Paul tolls us that he was caught
up into the third heaven, and in the same chapter
WHHRE ARE :BSBY ? 75
ealls tkat "third heayen," Paradiso. "The third boar-
en" was the Jewish phrase for the highest Heaven.
"For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to
depart and be with Christ, which is far better." (Phil.
Her« the Apostle confidently expresses the idea, that
^ for him to depart is "to be with Christ." He cannot
simply mean to be present with Him, as to his omnipre-
sent divinity, for he enjoyed that on earth. He must
mean His more appreciable, visible presence in glory.
Then ask no more, ye stricken-hearted, "Where are
they?" Whea the redeemed spirits left the body, they
rested net this side of Heaven. When the tongues of
Badness, grief, memory, hope, and love ir>quir§ for them,
listen to Mercy, as she softly whispers from glory, —
"They are here." And catch the spirit-tones that those
loved ones utter in the land of life, "We are here; wo'
are here ! "'
<mt'H iHfft ^gain."
We must part awhile :
, A f»^w shcrl monlhs— thoutjb short thpy uiutt be lung
\Vith.out thy ile«r society ; but ret
We i.iust endure it, and our love will be
Til 3 fond r after parting — it will grot*
. Inieyiser in our absence, and of/aitc
Burn with a tender gloi*.
Fear not; this :s nay l-.st reaolvo, and t/ns
My pai'ting iokeyi.
''We'll me«t agarini" These words are a pricclofs
treasure ; for the hope they inspire is often worth a
world. They are a precious balm to friends in this life,"
wlio are widely separatc(? by duty and fortune. They
often mingle like celestial music in the dirgcful farewell,
and light up tlie parting tear with rays of bright an-
ticipation. They are amonp; the angel liands which
steal away the anguish and the sting of death. They
twine like unfading ilowers around the tombstones of
the loved and fallen, and shed a soft and cheering fra-
grance on the hearts of surviving friends. They are a
bow of mercy and peace, which spans the distance from
the grave to glory— an unclianging covenant, thntwhon
life is o'er, a sweet reunion and the joys of everlasting
friendship shall blesa us in the skies.
The charm of these words rests in the fond faith ^^
indulge in the doctrine of heavenly recognition. What
^^Wl'r^L MBIIT 1«ATN I" 77
joy >TOuld it impart, to meet our friendi, /if ^Te could
Hut koow and identify them ? Let us examine, the
grounds of the delightful belief, and soe whether they
Memory and understanding are all the faculties of
the mind that are necessary to recognition. That these
are '-etained, even as regards matters in this life, is ev-
ident from the parable of the rich man and Lazaru*:.
Abraliam mentioned the respective lives and fortunes
of tb<i tWo, and then indulged in some reasoning
about motives to faith. If one knows and remembers
what happened in the lives of others, for a still stton-
ger reason he knows and remembers, what happened in
his own history.
We will remember that many of our friends died im-
penitent and unbelieving, and whether we recognize
them or not, we will .know that they pre lost; but
this will be no source of trouble to us, for whatever
God does will be just and righteous ; and whatever is
just and righteous will be approved and" joyously en-
dorsed by the sanctified. We will remember others who
triumphed in death. If we btill knew their names and
their histories, would we not have sufficient to lend to
mutual recognition 'i
We believe that saints reiaiii their personal identity.
Abraham^waS known as Abraham, Lazarus as Lazarus;
and at the transfiguration, Moses and Elijah were still
regarded as Moses and Elijah. If our friends thus re-
tain their identity, will we not be able to know them ?
David, in ANceping over his child, said: "I shall go to
him, but h« shall not return to m«." Does not hi;^ Ian-
78 MYKTLB LBAYB8.
guage ilearly express the hope and faith that he would
Again know him as his child?
Chrigt told the weeping sister, as a consolation, "Thy
brother shall rise again." Do not these words clearly
convey the idea of recognition ? Else what comfort
do they give ? For she before believed in the doctrine
of the resurrection.
St. Paul wrote to the CoUossians that he had labor-
ed that he might '^present every man perfect in Christ
Jesus." How could ho present them, if ho could not
rccogniEC them ? To the Thessalonians he said : that
they were his hope and joy, and crown of rejoicing "in
the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ, at his coming."
Ilow could they be, if he did not and could not know
them? In other places he uses similar language to
those who had been converted under his ministry : thui
appealing to that godly hope, that, when the storms and
trials of life and death are pa'st, preacher and people,
endeared by common toils and triumphs here, should
meet around the great white Throne and shout together,
in the ineflable raptures of the redeemed.
Oh, then, let us feast on the sweets which this good
doctrine brings. It is true. We could multiply argu-
ments, if we would, but what we have written is
enough. Oftentimes love and friends! 'p twine the ten-
derest cords of living hearts together; deatli comes, and
tears them asunder ; one falls into the tomj), and others
bleed in disconsolate sorrow ; but, we have the blessed
assurance that those broken cords shall be twined again,
and bind the same fond hearts together, in a union more
holy and sweet, which shall be perpetuated forever.
We must all, soon or late, part for a while, but if we
are faithful Chri»tiaas, "We'll meet again!"
Moti)tXj ?t?omc anlr ]i}tabtn.
In wandering, ono day, among the grares ia Laurel
Hill Cemetery, I was attracted by a large and hand-
some monument which had but one word on its surface.
I walked near and examined it, that word was "Mother."
It was only one word, and yet it was enough. Another
letter would have lessened its beautiful pathos, its en-
chanting power. It was a short inscription as the eye
saw it and the tongue uttered it, but it was infinite as
the hpart interpreted it.. I read it with my heart. It
expressed a great deal more than I can write. It told
me about smiles, tenderness, kindness, consolation, cheer
and love, in a thousand forms of blessing. Then it
whispered of mingled hope and dread, of the gathering
gloom and foreboding as the cheek was paler, and the
pulse more feeble. Then it echoed the last faint but
holy counsels, the last farewell, the last hopeful, tearful
"kiss ; and then spoke of all the tears shed and the sor-
rows felt ; and gathering a world of meaning in a word,
it said, "There is a home without a rnother/' I thought
of that home. Its brightest light, its sweetest song,
its truest words, its dearest joys, its noblest wealth,
and its guardian angel, were no more.
Oh, Heaven, deal tenderly with the liomoH without a
mother! Home is next to Heaven, but hAvne is only
homo ^hon th^rf '• a mother th«re.
80 MYRTLB LEAVES.
Ou looking upon anotlicr side of the marble, I dis-
covered words >yhichtoldrae that that mother had only
left a home on eartli, for a home in heaven. Then I
felt less sad. My sadness began to melt into joy.
Heaven! Oh, who would not give up homdov Heaven?
Who would not give up friends to Heaven ? Heaven!
It is the precious poetry of our glorious faith, the su-
j)reme eloquence of infinite mercy, the last eternal ex-
cellence of Christianity, the glory -crowned queen of all
worlds, the glittering land of immortal blenscdness.
Hast thou lost a mother ? Did she die in hope and
peace ? Then weep no more, for thou hast a mother at
Jiome'm Ileaven. Mother! Home! Heaven! Three
strains as sweet as a seraph's song. "A mother at
home in Heaven." A son^ that a seraph might dolight
to sing !
■iiFoi'beii oi]i?' J^kh', ^^^ ii)i^ Joiici) Sl^K
"IVas evo, and Nature slept in peace —
The SaV her coverinf]^, gemmed witli stars ; *
While 'long lUo West, .bright blushing; hues
j^llll lingered like a' fringe of gold :
S.'ie slept like one w4io R\veetly knows
•Slic's loyed and 1 loving one,
And dreams ^Yhi" ' ■.^, be is near,
AmiI sn:ib\i' r.ivd !wvc a tong;ne.
l^^noa-iii a Ijrv'ud a^]'' '■■[■•.\ov^y elm
A soiil'i'i' and Ir!.-; f i;r*V.c"i-ol]ied
In (111 1 loved.
. 'J'hey Ioii;j; liad !shaie<i tuooe sacred joys
Wiiicli kindred hearts cacli other give
V/hcn deep ■afr'v.-'*-''->r' niaiies themoiir.
T'lu: ]\ >''>\o y ■ A$:>L fire,
Alive to duty s thiiliiiif:
Had eomc to fjrCathe ii k;.; .. .., a,
And give a pledge ef changeless love.
'i'i\e wiii'ning visioliaof his scnl,
111 droftflis, in fancy, till were stained
Vv'ith tears of wec'ri;;; y '^nioeence,
With smoio fro' I and burning homes,
With b! led hills and plains,
Ant! '■■• -•■■-i;; of air
*' i I ;ippeal
^ ' i countrymen
.. ... ,.. ... .i .-... , possesped
.ot» ftiithfiil to oppose
The 7AKi\ nuignanin>oi>s, 'vbich led
82 MYRTLE LEAVES.
To sacrifice and strife and pain,
For home and liberty and Heaven.
Ho spoko with trembling voice and low:
" To-morrow, Linda, I must haste
To scenes of strife, in' distant fields ;
To share with comrades, brave and true,
The dangers of a soldier's life ;
And struggle with a dauntless soul
For l^uth and right and native land.
I hate this war and every war :
I have no cruel thirst for bluo.l,
Nor wish, impelled by dark-rovenge,
To stand beside a fallen too,
And hear him groan and see him writhe
Such feelings suit a demon's breast.
1 want no wreath bestained with blood,
No praise by dread destruction won.
I follow onl/ duty's call,
And battle only for the cause
That all the good and Heaven approve,
'Twould be life's Eden^ould I spend
My days at home with peace and tboc.
Thou knowest this, and yet I'm sur%
Thy heart would love me lesis, should loYO
Prevail to conquer virtue's power
And make me sheathe the sword of Right.
I'm here once more, but gone again ;
Long years may pass ere I return.
With me, remember, life itself
And memory of thee are one.
But ero I go I'd give to thee
A souvenir which shall recall,
With angel tongue, my name, in hours
AVhen precious memory's most dear,
And hallowed thoughts most hallowed arc.
For this I will not leave a flvv-r .•
MORVEN AND LINDA ; OR THE TOKEN STAR. 83
Though flowers are pure and beautiful,
And speak a language full of love ;
They, Linda, early droop and fade :
They change with every beam and breeze :
And cannot emblem well a heart,
Which beats, like mine, forever true.
I will not leave the spai;js^ling gem.
The golden gewgaw or the pearl,
For though they have a magic tongue.
That speaks with potent charms to some,
Yet gold and diamond tonrjites arc dumb
To hearts so excellent as thine.
I will not leave on gilded page
The painted vows which poets dream,
Nor aught of all the weird pen
Has written to reveal the heart.
Books are not bosoms ! They are born
Too oft where only thou(/lil prevails ;
And simple types can never tell
The faithful fervor of a s©ul
Which glows and thrills with ceaseless love.
And books! Manmade them ; saving One,
And that I gave thee years agone.
I will not leave the spoken vow ;
For as I speak the echo dies
Forever to the mortal ear.
I will not leave my miniature ;
It does not smile, I smile for thee ;
It does not pray, I pray for thee ;
It does not look with burning beam
The living energy of soul :
'Twould seem to be myself, and still
'Twould be a mockery of me.
Behold you richly radiant Star!
'Tis there all seasons of all years ;
84 MYRTLE LEAVES.
While others often disappear
To shed their beams in other skies,
That ahvays looks and is the sanio,
And never wearies of its home.
'L'lie clouds may overshadow it,
The sun's unfriendly splendor hide ;
Yet when the veiling cloud is gone,
Or when the dazzling dajj is done,
It shines all loveliness again.
It is a tenant of Jie sky ;
lis rays are pure ; no earthly stain
Makes aught of its soft brilliancy.
It shines by night — to guide the dews
Oi> visits to refresh the flowers,
it shines by night — like one who lovos
Tranquility and sacred peace.
It sliines by night — as faithful hearts •
Seek kindly for the scenes of gloom.
It shines by night — while nature sleeps,—
Thus blessing earth, when earth knows not ;
As angels bring their heavenly gifts,
And breathe sweet messages on souls
That never see the hands that give,
Xor know the precious lips that speak.
It shines by night — directing those
Who wander over pathless hills,
Or ride the waves vrith compass lost ;
An emblem of the spirit light
Our Father sends, to guide the heart
TJirough moral wilderness and Bturm. •
'That Star, and that alone, I leave.
My love is pure as starlight's pure ;
'Tis changeless as perennial beam ;
"i\v-ill be the same though parting clouds
Should loAYcr long and dark between,
lii'liold it, then, and call it fhiiic!
To mo it shall a l)eacon be,
MOllVEN AND LiiNi>A: Oil THE TOKEN yTAR. 85
Commanding every dcod of life ;
Not that Fd serve thee more than IL.'iivcn,
But tliat I knovr thy will to lie
That^ I , should only Heaven servo.
Ag did th(? star of Bethlehem,
It shall proclaim with every my
The language of eternal hope ;
And tell us of that higher home, %
Where forms like stars shall Uve to shiii<\
And souls like stars be high in Heaven.
'Twill lead us to look up to Him
Who made the stars to' make us blessed.
'Twill loll us of the love, the power,
The wisdom and the grace of Him
Who deigns to be our Father God.
Then, dearest Linda, we can pray ;
And conataut hope, despite all fate,
That He will lead us once again
To happy union, eiiher here
Or ill the purer light of Htianen I "
Here Linda wept, and weeping smiled ;
Now wa.s it strange ; for in jv world
Where shade and sunshina often Join, •
The hearts are/tfw, that feel not oft
Deep cause to mingle tears witli smiles.
Then Linda, weeping, smiling said ;
"Oh, Morven ! ever be thyself!
FU tliink of th-eo, Til cherit-.h thee, .
I'll pray for thee, I'll \o\(i but thoc :
Be sure to think of this and me !
Jlomcmber me each fleeting hour !
Aye, every moment think of me I
And be each thought of me, a call
To struggle for the right and Heaven !
That Star's our pledge: 'lis mine; 'tis ikinc,
I shall not chang , I'm thine forever.
Good'byc ! We seek the same bright Home ;
We'll meet again, I hope, on earth
86 MYRTLE LEAVES.
If not ou earth, still shall we meet!"
Months fled apace. Each dusky evo,
■Would Linda wander to the spot
AVhcre she and Morven wept "adieu."
When there she'd cast a tearful glance
To greet the gentle little Star —
Then meekly bend the suppliant knee,
And breathe to glory prayers like this :
"Oil, Fatner ! show him yonder Star !
When in his blanket wrapped he lays
Ilis wearied form upon the ground —
Or walks the sentry's lonely beat —
Or stands on outpost dark and drear —
Then Father, show him yonder Star I
And give its every beam a tongue
To speak with power to his soul !
Oh, may he ever faithful be,
As that is faithful in its sphere !
Bestow on him a cheerful heart
'Mid all the trials he must bear !
When sick in crowded hospital,
Upon his little bed of straw,
He thinks of distant home and friends,
And sighs for tender hands and hearts
To bless him in his suffering —
But sighs in vain. All-present One !
Be thou his Friend and Comforter !
AVhen on the field 'mid serried ranks,
He fronts the battle's storm, oh God I
Be round about him ! Be his shield !
Oh, be his great deliverer !
He loves me, Father ; make that love
' A sweet Evangel to proclaim
His duty and his troth to Thee.
Guide all his footsteps ! Make his life
A holy Murathon for truth !
Oh, may he always trust in Thee,
Reeeive Q,nd feel Thy boundless lovo !
MORVEN AND LINDA ; OR THE TOKEN STAR. ' 87
May all his words and actions prove
The Christian hero's lofty soul !
Preserve and bless him through the war,
And bring him safely home again !
I pray for peace! oh Lord, how long I"
Anon the beauteous Linda pined ;
The lustre of her noble eye
Grew^dim, the roses on her cheek
Were faded by despondency.
The heart was sick ; and when a heart
Like hers, is Ulled with gloom or pain,
The power's felt through form and soul.
No more in gracefulness she tripped,
In evening shades, through woody bower.
'Twas seen her life was waning fast,
And friends were shedding secret tears..
One sunny day her mother sat,
And viewed her with a heart of grief,
As drooping on her couch she lay ;
The mother thought her slumbering.
She was asleep to all around ;
Iler soul was living far away.
She thought with fervid hopes of him
Who '*loved and loves, if yet he lives.''
She prayed for union, but not here ;
Iler spirit looked beyond the skies.
Believing d^ath wxis almost come.
She softly sighed and east a glance
Of melting tenderness ; and said :
"Dear mother ! come and kiss thy child !
I'd feel thy sweet embrace once moro ;
The last time hear thy tender voice.
I'm dying, mother, but I feel
No fear. All's ivell. Bid all my friends
Draw near and take this last adieu."
With streaming eyes and swelling hearts,
88 MYRTLE LKAVEH.
They gathered round Ui' uci).
Received the dying pled
Caught sacred ■\varnin;!i;s nu!;i ;.";■ iji-.
.Then warmly pressed hor littl^ luiml
And sighed a lingering "fji'
Again she spoke ; tliey listor.€*d all ;
"Dear friends; I ask one la'^t kind ]-l
Soon I shall sleep in sil«"'Tit ^'\-ith :
Prepare ni}' grave bonen
Apd bury me at eventid.',
When stars are shining in tl
Place over me a marble blof
Engrave no name, but cut a- Star
Upon the surface, then a hand.
With finger pointing to the f^Uvr :
And mark! Sliould Morve '.r:.
Pray tell him that I begged vui:
I die — but oh ! be^'ond all urcai..
Of joy that soul e'er droaiuod behnv,
The real ecstacy of Ilea v. n
Steals richh^ on my wingir.
I die — but only die to lit-' .
We part — but only j^^'-
WIip'c those loho meet shall pdn no
This day, not far from Malvern Hill.
Within a bloody hospital
Young Morven lay, wiii
From loss of Idood aud v, ;4 . . . i iueal, •
And dread fatigue, hi:* face ,.• ^^.^^^-~
llis voice was tremulous an
And yet to comrades lying
And writhing in their blood :w
lie often spoke consoling word-;
And strove to calm their aching heii •
With feeble hand He'd hokl the cup,
To dying soldiers' fevered lips,
And sigh for strength to help tliommorc.
MORVEN AND LINDA ; OR THE TOKEN STAR.
He talkod to them of holy trust
In Ilini Avho promises to heed
TJio Iium blest cry tliat's raided to II im,
For lielp and mercy, through His Son :
lie" spoke of blissful rest and peace,
Within the Beautiful of. Lands,
AVhere war's alarms are never felt,
And cruel foes are never feared.
While speaking, sweet serenity
Was on his features,, and a smile*
AV'ould often play upon them, like
The ripple from a gentle breeze
Upon the bosom of a lake
That rests in sunny petlcefulness.
But soon night came, and o'er his weak
And wearied frame, soft slumber fell.
Then fancy rose and ruled the mind.
Creating freshly vanished hours.
And lading them with pleasures gone.
So faithful was she to the past,
He seemed to live it all again.
Fair Linda rose in visions brigl^l.
And joined him in a thousand scenes
Of youthful hope and happiness.
Her voice was love's own melody.
Her every glance a pledge of love.
How beat his heart with gladness then I
'Twas feasting on the sacred joys
Of dearest memory, combined
With other joys he'd hoped for long,
And oft had viewed with ardent eye,
In scenes that coiT'ing days should bring.
But blissful as this dream, so dark
The cloud of gloom which soon should wrap
Its dismal folds around his heart.
He wakes and finds beside him one,
.Who knew him in his distant home.
They'd long been friends with m#ii;il nust
"Were kind and true as bTcthers are.
They loved to bless each other still.
IIo held a candle in one hand,
"And gave a letter, which ho said
Contained perchance some news from homo :
Their homes were captured by the foc"
The month they left, and nut a lino
Had they received from home and friends.
"Witii eage.r hand he opened it,
But found no name. 'Twas written by
Some cruel one to torture him,
And blight his love and happiness.
By one who hud a traitor turned
To all tliat-'s noble in the heart.
To friendship, native land and Heaven ;
And who still sought the lovely hand
Of Linda, .his own sweet betrothed.
This letter told him startling things.
It taught him that he was forgot —
That Linda loved another now.
It gave him all her cruel words.
When she renounced her olden vow
And to another pledged her all.
This ueM's was strange — 'twas terrible,
And gained dominion over him.
IIo strove to doubt it, think it false.
But all in vain ; it would seom true.
He begged his friend to lend his arm
And lead him to a neigh])oring grove;
There sadly sinking to the ground,
lie gave the letter to that friend
And begged, " now leave mc all alone."
Oh, what a burden pressed his heart !
He leaned his head- upon his hand
And mused a while and deeply sighed ;
Then with a doleful, anguished voice.
MORVEN AND LINDA ; OR «1B tOKHN iTiB. 01
fie uttered this soliloquy :
" Oh, Linda I Linda I can' it bo I '
What is there left to comfort me ?
The past I love, but tha* is gone.
The present is a soldier's lot.
Privation, suffering and pain ;
The sweetest hope the future lends,
Of blessings human friends can give, «
Is what a joy may' gladden it.
By her fidelity and love.
And if she's false — the worldls fals».
For she was truest of the world.
If she'be false — life's lifht Is fled.
And oh 1 to think, I'm so deceived,
By one I lc^<?d with such a 1ot« I
I should have deemed her pledged to m^
Without the fervent pledges given.
She smiled sometimes when we would meet^
With gentleness enough to quell
The raging ofa breaking heart.
She spoke sometimes with angel ttngue,
Such words as lingei; sweetly yet,
Like music from the vales of Peace.
Ten thousand little favers done,
Proclaimed a loving woman's love.
These smiles, and words, and favors tM^
Or each would make it treachery
And deep decejjtion, were she false ;
But add to these the plighted vows,
So eft ffepeated, and at last
Embfilmed in holy partiag tears I
Oh love 1 oh treachery I cau it b« T
How base the crime of dark deceit I
It was the primal fount of sin ;
It withered all of Eden's bowers.
And stained her every crystal stream.
It is tha darkest trophy-gem,
Whose lurid sparkling crowna the brow
Of him who reigns — the Prince of w«e.
02 AJPTRTLB LEAVES.
If I would be on earth a fiend,
Deception first should fill my soul ;
And if a fiend I'd ever ^e,
I'd wed deceiving- to my life.
It is the antithesis of truth —
Then is it black as truth is bripiht,
And truth is bright enough for Heaven.
Aad ean a crime like this be done
Aud fostered in the pious breast
Of Linda, whom we ever thought
The child of purity and truth?"
If false, her fall is one that's lests
Alone, than that which ami els fell.''
O'crwhelmed with thoughts like those, he paus^ed.
And soon his words were changed to tears.
Then sweetly on the silent air—
Soft molting strains of music came.
The notes were those of "Home, sweet Home."
They shed enchantment o'er his soul.
Unwittingly he looked away
To where the Token Star still shone.
K beam of beauty kissed his soul,
And waked it from its reverie.
As swift as morning shadoAvs fly
When waves of sunlight flood the sky —
So swift his painful doubtings fled
And all his heart was trust again.
" No, Linda ! I'll believe thoe true, .
Till thine own lips declare thee false.
No nameless letter can destroy
The trust o^ this unchanging heart.
Thy faithfulness is written high
Upon the bosom of the sky,
In changeless characters of liglit.
'Tis written too, in golden lines
Upon ten thousand snowy leaves,
MGRVEN AND LINDA ; OR THE TOKEN STAR. 93
Of thy past angel iTistory.
Siicli proof's are worthier far of faith
Than all that ei-ting man can write.
I will not, cannot doubt thee more."
Long, changeful months of strife passed o'er ;
But not one /ear or c7o»/6^ arose
To trouble Morvon's trust again.
At length he learned with grateful heart,
The foe were driven from his honre ;
Just then, most fortunate, there came
A leave of absence from his corps,
That he might visit homo ohce more.
How buoyant was his noble breast !
Alone he sped fiis hopeful way.
To those who love and know they're loved,
How sweet anticipation is
"When blessed reunion is at band !
His journey done, at last he came
By starlight to the cherished elm.
When near, he gazed and saw the shaft;
His heart beat fast, ho thought 'twas she.
Love could not wait; it instant spoke :
"Oh Linda ! Linda ! loved and dear !"
He listened, not a sound he heard.
Still gazing, to himself he said : *
"It must be Linda and she fears ;
Methinks I see her tremble now.
Again he cried with voice of love ;
" Sweet Linda ! I am home again V
No -word he caught, no motion saw.
He drew him near, descried the shaft ;
His hopes were faint, he quaked with dread ;
He stooped, he saw the marble Star,
He shrieked: " Oh Heaven ! 'Tis Linda's tomb !
And is she dead ? Oh, is she dead ?
Is this tlio homo of hallowed joy.
94 - MYRTLE LEAVES.
Become the dreary scene of death ?
Oh, that I could have present been,
To hear her dying words and prayers I
For they, I know, were treasures dear,
That even angels love to prize.
She's gone, and with her all I loved
And cheerished most this side of Heaven.
Shoe's gone, to fadeless Glory gone,
She waits me on yon peaceful shore.
Up there, if we should meet again, •
Eternal union would he ours ;
For this sweet thought, I thank kind Heaven.
Thrice blessed th«y who meet on high I
Their lives and blessings never end.
Oh, what a boon it were to die,
And hie me to her better home 1
But nay ; the Father's will be done !
I'll weep no more ; instead of tears,
Her memory shall waken prayers.
Thou breaking heart I go feel for those
"Who need and bleed in wretchedness I
There's something left to live for still !
Go, guide these hands to scatter peace
In every helpless heart and home I
Live like the shining angels live,
In usefulness and holiness !
Then smiles from thy Redeemer still
Shall gently gather over thee,
And cheetthee on thy lanely way.
Thus beat away thy fleeting days,
And soon thy liberty shall come.
This block proves Linda was herself :
As long as change was possible ;
She's /rwer now — she's glorified —
She lives where hearts can never change.'^
*' Oh Morven I Morven ! Is it thou 1
Thy Linda lives 1 Wo'ye met again!"
MORVBN AND LINDA; OR THE TOKEN STAR. 95
The voice was hers, he knew it well.
He sprang, excited, to his feet.
Ho looked and lo ! all beautiful,
Came Linda rushing to his arms !
He pressed her to his bounding heart,
And cried with fervid, trembling voice :
"Oh Linda ! Is this all a dream ?
Can such a glory real be ?
What means it ? Tell me, quickly tell !"
'Twas long before a word she spoke,
But sobbing, quivering, she lay
Enfolded in his loving arms.
When joy^s first thrilling shock was passed,
8ho smiled with glowing love and said :
** Dear Morvern ! just ten months ago,
I almost slept the sleep of death.
When I believed nay end was near, «■
I begged my friends to build a tomb
Of marble and engrave it thus.
But Heaven graciously prolonged
My life, and gave me health again.
Anon we heard the bloody news
Of battles round our Capital.
You do not know the dread suspense, -
The trembling, tearful anxiousness,
That those at home experienced.
When they have learned a battle's fought
And cannot hear the fate of friends.
It cdothes all countenances in gloom.
By day and night the heart in sad,
And though so eager, dreads to hear.
I never shall forget the day
A paper came, in which were given
The names of all our Southern slain.
How tremblingly I read that list !
I hurried almost madly on.
Till, oh ! my eye beheld thy name I
96 MYRTLE LEAVES.
I cannot tell thee what I felt —
I can't remember what I felt ;
For 'twas a shoS'k which rent my heart
As lightning rends the stricken tree.
Then iviih a love that could not die,
I straight resolved to raise this tomb
To thy most precious memory.'^
** Oh Linda ! such delight as this,
AVith such amazing mercy fraught,
Demands the instant offering
Of warmest gratitude to Heaven.
Let's kneel and praise our gracious Go 1
Whose ' wondrous love has blessed us*s3 !' "
r 1] c jj i| r i c ,3l e ii .
! * .:!.''l iilorig the ocean ])each
To leiisb oil nature';^ charms and spend
A soa.son with my (irod ;
Around me were unnumbered shells,
Those tokens billows earn
From ocean and in love present
'j\, i,!..:! r<^ f]ir> shoves rotnrn.
Of all thu.se shells, but .ono had power
My vision to enchain ;
Nor could I tell why it should oliarm,
[^■n- X'j vr:t>; s'nall and plain.
Bat raisin;^ it, bcnnath I found
A L.>,.'i< oi raven hnir ;
\'v" .: 1 all iT!.}^ thiu'^'hts to seekin;^ turuod
[[ 1 , ' happen there.-
Soon Fancy rose oi kindness full,
k]\'\ ■i< irkaowinii; well
liow much I Avislied it, instantly
TtH liistory did tell :
" This Lock of hair once i^ently liun^i;
IJpv.u the brov/ of one,
^Yhose gentleness and excellence
A tliou'^and'licarts had vron.
Arouu-1 her clustered hopes aud prayers
Aud love as Avarm jind true
As (:\,:v lioly loveliness
From faithful friendship drew
While cherished thus malign diseasQ,
xUas ! came on apace,
98 MYRTLE LEVAES.
And pale and mute despondency
Soon sat upon her face. ,
'Twas hoped that change and travel might
Her failing health restore
So entering a noble craft
She left her native shore ;
"While voyaging she loved the deck,
And oft would linger there
To gaze upon the waters, or watch
The sky serene and fair.
She'd smile sometimes as if her soul
Were on the breast of Peace ;
So sweet these smiles, who saw them sighed
That they should ever cease.
They loved her too — those dauntless ones
Who on that vessel rode —
They said that not this world, but Heaven,
Would suit for her abode.
One awful night there rose a storm
And fiercely round them raged ;
I cannot tell thee how those winds
And waves their warfare waged ;
If thou would'st know a storm at sea,
To sea thyself must go,
For whom the tempest never meets
It terrors cannot know.
Then quaked the ship as woman quaked
When hemmed between the hosts
That erst with raging vengeance fought
Our Scotland's hills and cofists.
Ten dreadful hours she weathered well,
AVhile 'bove, around, beneath.
There seemed a wild conspiracy
To work her instant death.
THE BURIED LOCK* 99
Anon she groaned as though she had
A bleeding, breaking heart,
And all with shrieks of agony
Beheld her timbers part 1
Oh what a scene ensued I all prayed !
All tongues forget to curse
When roaring billows shroud in death *
And whirling fragments pierce.
Among them floated Eoline,
The Beautiful and Fair I
And she was most resigned and calm
Of all who struggled there ;
JFor ihe had trusted Heaven's love
And Heaven kindly gave •
A wondrous peace which lived and blessed
Mid fatal wind and wave.
Just as her lovely spirit fl«d
There drifted near a plank
And caught this single token Lock
Before her body sank.
It floated thus for many weeks
, Upon the stormy main,
Till landed on this quiet shore
Where now for months it's lain.
I'll tell thee now why thus the Lock
Beneath this sh^ll was laid :
They both one time had life, but those
Who were their life are dead.
The Lock lies here that it may be
Like buried Eoline ;
It makes the shell it's sopulchfo,
Her grave's the swelling brine.
The Lock rests here as if to hear
The tidal billows sing
100 MYRTLE LEAVES.
Her irequlem and fondly wait
Till she from death shall sprin,;;.
They emblem too that woful scene —
That wild catastrophe
When by the tempest wrecked, the ship
Consigned her to the sea.
The iTock still lingers on the shore
To warn and counsel those
Who sail in ships, to tell them how
That night the storm arose.
But most 'twould guard them, 'gainst the s»l 'Vn
That visit land and sea.
Creating wrecks more horrible
Than mortal eye can see.
That woful night when they wore wrecked,
Loud wailings made the brave ;
A darker storm than that without
Swept o'er a fiercer wave.
Geat Death was wrecking deathless souls,
A^id oceans of despair
Rolled waves of sorrow and of woe
Against eternal air.
Ah, how those wretched, guilty ones
Begged mercy while they died !
For death compelled tliem now to make
The prayers which Iti'e denied.
And many perished in that storm —
Went down to rise no more, .
Till stranded in a gale of fire
Upon the Burning Shore !
These spirit-storms shall surely come
To all wkp will not give
♦^ Their heart to Christ, the Sinner's Friend,
Who died that they might live.
Then bow to Ilim and seek His love,
And when thy life is o'er
He'll pilot thee across the fliood
To Canaan's blissful shore.
S i) c i ,s S 1] e .
"Sad I am I uor sra-ill is my ctiina of woo.
Daura, thou wert fiiir ;
Fair as the moon on Fans,
Wrtite as tho drivon snow,
S voot as the brrathing galo."
Tlicre is a sweet, a cherished spot
Tlie place where lirst we met,
Which, though all others be forgot,
I never can forget.
There is a love-sequestered home,
That is to me more dear
Thau princely hall or goi-geous dome,
For she was nurtured there.
There" was a darkly beaming eye,
Of loveliness supreme,
Through which a soul of purity
Looked forth in holy beam.
There was a voice su'^jlimely sweet,
A cheery, melting voice,
A voice with love and hope replete.
The music of my choice.
There was a tender, playful smile.
Tliat erst my ])o.som cheered,
And ahnost made mo dream tho whih',
An angel had appeared.
102 MYRTLB LDaVBS.
Alas, there is a cruel grave,
Which sadly from me won.
The dearest friend that Heaves gave ;
And I am left alone.
Is that eye closed, and that sweet voice
Now hushed, forever more ?
And shall that smile no more rejoice
My spirit as of yore ?
Ah, yes ; His true ! and sad the truth !
But then I know she's gone
To live .in sweet, immortal youth,
Around the Father's throne.
Gh ! earnest then shall be my prayer,
And constant my endeavor,
That I at last may meet her there,
To part no more forever.
A littlo child with pale and quiet face
On death's cold bosom leaned his weary head,
-Although his tender feet ne'er knew a thorn,
Nor pressed the scorching sand or chilling snow,
Still had he trod the ways of suffering —
Had oft been pilgrim to the shrino of pain.
Just as the'spirit winged its skyward flight,
And as the mother knelt beside the couch,
To kiss his ransomed soul a last adieu,
One tiny tear escaped his closing eye,
And like a pearl of beauty decked his cheek.
All tears have language deep and full of power,
But this a language specially its own.
It said ** If shed not now, I'll ne'er be shed.
He's going where there's no more need of tears ;
The winging spirit sent me to declare
It's ever-living fondness, and to give
A holy promise that it will rejoin
Its earth companion in the Kising Day.
I'm likewise emblem of the morning dew
Upon the spotless lilly, saying sweet,
** The night is gone !' This life is night to heaven.
And more, I'm tribute to a njother's love ;
I come to meet her tender parting kiss,
Fori, in love's blest language, mean "good-bye."
I ftlso sprang from holy thoughts like those
Whioh made the Saviour weep at Bethaay.
My mission is for sympathy to those
Who still must suffer in a troublous world,
While there's a world so wondrous sweet as Heaven/'
104 MYRTLE LEAVE.'^.
Ah ! there's a beauty in the soul, this life
AVith all its myria'l tongues cannot vevoal ;
And there's a better life, the trammelled sonl,
Can dream but faintly of, while prisoned iior..
There's much of loveliness to temper oartli ;
But oh ! the glory of the Land of Love I
There's much of music here to bless the heai-t
With charms of peace and thrills of sacred. joy
Rich music floating from the countless h^rps
Of Mercy, strung by more than ang«l hand.
And made to pour their soothing melody
Upon the bosom of this ' tainted air;'
But oh! we know that here we do not catchy
The faintless echoes of the faded notes
Of that celestial melody which rings
Through Heaven in one eternal gale of son'!;.
Vibrating, as it rings, on gslden wires
. Which swim in music from the shining liar]*?^
That sound harmonious with the voice of God.
There's mercy there we cannot understand.
Or else the hearts that love ns here aiul !•< o
To such a land, would weep to knov,- that v.h
Still faint and shiver in a world of '/\u !
Jbe SolSieir'^ " ^^i^eivell.
• HE SLEEPS 0N"^HE PLAINS OF MANAlS'SAS;
In days that have elapspd, Kate,
Since we together met,
We oft have shared in joys, Kate,-
. That I shall ne'er forget. ;,
Though oft those days appear, Kate,
Our happiest, to me,
I pray that life may bring, Kate,
, Far happier days to thee.
AVhatever fortune come, Kate,
We never must unloose
The silken bond of love, Kate,
^ That long united us.
* ' .
Our life paths here diverge, Kate,
And we cannot tell whether
Within this changeful life, Kate,
They'll ever come together.
But as these little paths, Kate,
Which we so loved to roam.
From every course led back, Kate,
To our sequestered home;
So all the paths of niglii, Kate,
■ No matter what or where,
Bend ever to fhe skies, Kate,
And aU meet sweetly ihere.
'Twas soft, serene, refreshing eve ;
The setting sun a shadowy veil
Had woven o'er Niagara's shores,
When one with heart of conscii)us peace,
Came calmly from her silent home, ;'
To wander 'long the verdant banks,
And 'mid the cataract's wild roar.
Commune with solUude, and tell
The thoughts and feelings of a soul
All innocence and loveliness.
She loved the beau-tiful aad good.
And, as with all the wise and pare,
Each leaf, each bud, each smiling flower,
Spake mystic language to her sou}.
How innocent and lovely, is
The signtimental love of flowers I
And who oan love them as they're loved.
By meek and tender woman's heart ?
And who can pluck them from their stem
So well as gentle woman can ?
She looked — a thousand floral gems
Were glist'ning charmingly around.
Her hand soon held a rich boquet.
To which when turned her melting eye, .
A far more sacred peaceful n ess
Sank tranquilly upon her soul ;
And eartb'ssublimost joy was her's.
Before her, still full many bloomed ;
A single glance upon their hues,
■And she was captive to their charms.^
THE FATAL FLOWER. 107
. Another and another still
She from its parent stem removed : .**
Unconsciously, with nimble step,
She neared the ever-cruml)liiig vcrc;e,
Which bounds the deep* and dread abyss.
Anon a mystic^voice within
Disturbed her hfcart, and bade her be
Distrustful of the treacherous brink : *
But still her heaven-savoring heart,
Too pure to tremble with a fear,
Inclined her on to pluck yet more.
One, passing bright and beautiful.
Was blooming on the very verge.
'Twas fair as only flowers are fair ;
And on its every brilliant leaf
The crystal spray was sparkling bright.
Enriching, with more' lovely tints,
Its every eye-enchanting hue.
I'This one I'll pluck," she instant thought,
"And then I'll to my home return."
Swift to the spot she lightly ran, *
And standing o'er it gazed awhile,
WitU raptured heart and eye entranced.
Upon its varied loveliness. *
Qh I- what a lovely s^ht was this !
'Twas Beauty's self most beautiful !
**Come, little angel, you are mine,"
Sho said, and plucked if from its stem.
Alas I Alas! The fatalturf,
As if unconscious of the pure
And precious burden it sustained,
Gave wat/~and down— alas 1 and down
Niagara-'s rugged chasm fell
This child of purity and love ! - *
108 MYRTLE LEAVES.
And as she fell, her dying,^ips
Shrieked forth a wild and thrilling cry,
Which, spite the thunder of the Falls,
Fell strange on many startled ears.
That cry 1 Oh ! Jleaven, what a cry !
It was the piercing, awful knell
Of i\\l life's hopes — of life itself.
These wore the words, her dying words,
"The Fatal Flower ! The Fatal Flower !''
Along the stream of sin and death,
A thousand cataracts, more deep
Than great Niagara's abyss,
i Dash down their torrents, huge and dire ;
And on their banks sweet flowers bloom,
Whose fragrance captivates the soul—
Whose beauty conquers conquerors.
The wandering spraj^bedims the sight,
And makes all danger seem afar-;
N® thunder 'drum a warning gives.
To tell how near the chasm yawns ;
Yet God and conscience softly speak,
* To woo the reckless from the brink.
Know, then, the gardens of thy foe
Are ever near a precipice.
The brightest blooms of sinful joy
Are nearest to the .crumbling verge.
Beware ! Ye lovers of the Avorld !
Ye'll surely meet with Fatal Flowers ;
And if ye pluck them — death's your doom ;
But if ye spurn them — heaven 's yours.
^i)c Neglecteti (gtabe.
"Remcmb.ev me, Vinvtla, when low on earth I lie."— Os3IAN.
I have como t® thy grave to weep, brother,
And the sighs of my bleeding breast *
Shall blend with the winds that sweep, brother,
By the scene of thy dreamless rest.
• Here are graves less sacred than thine, brother,
Which the wall and the iron enclose.
But, alas, there is nothing I find, brother,
To shelter thy lonely repose.
The rose and the jessamine .bloQjii, brother.
And the beautiful laurel waves,
To temper the chilly gloom, brother,
Of other remembered graves ;
But no afFoctionate hands, brother,
Would nurture a token for thee ;
And the rank weed flowerless stands, brother.
Where the sprout and the flower should be.
There are footsteps "recent, and old, brother.
All over this field of the dead,
And by them th« story is told, brother,
Of visits that friends haye made ;
. But, alas, there is nothing to prove, brother,
That any have deigned to come.
To offer one tribute of love, brother,
Or shed but a tsar at thy tomb'.
110 ' • MYRTLE LEAVES.
Thwe are many rich monuments here, brothw,
Whit?h tell of the life and death
Of those — the cherished and dear, brother,
Who sleep in the vaults beneath ;
But naught by the living was done, brother,
Thy name and thy memory to save.
And only a letterless stone, brother,
Is phiced at the head of thy grave.
But in weeping thy desolate lot, brother,
Sweet hopes to ray bosom have come-tr-
There are those who have never forgot, brother,
Thy virtues, thy name, ftr thy tnmb !
, Let mortals neglect and despise, brother,
• Thy humble and grass-grown mound;
The angels shall come from the skies, brother,
And linger in sympathy round.
Ah, yes ; they are near thee to-day, brother,
Their smiles and their whispers are here,
So I leave as I wander away, brother,
Thy gave in the angel's care.
They will guard it till time is no more, brother,
And then, when the signal is given,
Although thou M^ert humble -and poor, brother,
They will carry thee home to- heaven.
My Happy Home I my spirit Home !
Thou'rt ever pare and bright,
And angel bands forever roam
Thy field^of love and light.
Along thy shining, golden street,
In perfect joy and peace,
We soon departed friends shall moot
And feast on endless bliss.
There we shall join the happy throngs,
Who play the golden lyre :
And sing the sweet, celestial songs
With tongues that never tir^
We'll wave the palms that never fade.
The palms of victory ;
And wear the croAvns that Jesus made.
Through all eternity. l
Oh, then in mercy's precious rays,
♦ We'll bask the raptured soul;
And sing and sho'ut Jehovah's praise <
While termless age-^ roll.
The smiles of my Redeemer play
Around my glorious IFome,
And through one bright, eternal day,
Sweet Heaven's beauties bloom.
"ft is amell."
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Now thine innocent heart froni its throbbing has ceased ;
It will thrill with life's changing emotions no more ;
And thy sweet, stainless soul, from its prison's released ;
It has peacefully vanished from time's fading shore.
Ah ! i;hy form — it was beauty — so youthful and fair !
'Twas the dearest and loveliest treasure of home,
But it's gone from the arms of affection and care,
And now sleeps in the merciless arms of the tomb.
"It is well ;" for on earth there are sorrows untold ;
They are always afflicting — are often severe,
Sd, although we must weep that thy bosom is cold,
We rejoice that it has no more trouble to bear.
Though we own there are pleasures on earth that are sweet,
We are sure there are sweeter and purer above,
Where the glory-browned spirits- forever shall meet,
With contentment and rapture and heavenly love.
"It is well ;" for thy body now soulless and still,
In the first resurrection shall joyously rise,
And then bidding to earth an eternal farewell,
Shall ascend in His likeness to dwell in the skies ;
Where with spirit and body in harmony joined.
In the presence of 'God and the shining ones there,
Through all ages undying thbu ever shalt find
All the glory and bliss that thy n ature can bear.
3J[ieepli]g h\\i ifopirig.
How oft with fond embrace, Willie,
I've pressed thee to my heart,
And watched thy smiling face, Willie,
And felt supremely blest.
Now many a silent tear, Willie,
In loneliness I shed ;
My heart has lost its cheer, Willie,
Since thou art with the dead.
But though my tears may stream, Willie,
They're doomed to stream in vain ;
Thy smile shall never beam, Willie,
To mortal eye again.
But while thy prattling tongue, Willie,
Is hushed on earth forever.
It sings the sacred song, Willie,
Beyond the mystic river.
Upon thy shining brow, Willie,
There gleams a crown of gold.
And thou art happy now, Willie,
With happiness untold.
And, Oh r how passing sweet, Willie,
The hope by Mercy given :
That we again shall meet, Willie,
And always live in Ileaven.
"It)^f Mnm Siqe Sill)."
A sweet-^spirited lady, reclining on her death couch, gazed through
the casement on the quiet heavens, and said, in melting accents, to
hor husband: "D» you see that beautiful sky yonder? It will
not ba long till I am far beyond thf,t.
Oh, that sky, how passing lovely I
Blue, to tell me God is true j
Though T know it never changes.
Still it seems forever new.
Often swept by raving tempest,
Often hid by cloud and storm.
Still it wears, when theyVe departed,
Just the same sweet, smiling charm.
Now the noble Sun is shedding
Showers of silver brightness there,
Grand old prophet of the glory
Where the white-robed sainted are.
Oft I've thought while* on it gazing,
That it would delightful be
There to wing on fearless pinion,
Safe and happy, bright and free.
But I know that far beyond it
There's a realm more, rich, more fair —
"Where no clouds nor darkness lower —
Endless night and calm are ihcrQ,
There the ransomed live forever.
Full of perfect love and peace ;
*Fear and trial enter never ;
*^oy (ind triumph never cease.
"TKAU 8]0AL"J:ii?UL BLUB iSKf." 116
Thither swiftly I am going ;
Scon within its light I'll rest,
Never more of sorrow knowing —
BUst I and Oh, forever blest!
There with harp and crown I'll wait thee,
Till thine end, like mine, is come ;
Then with heavenly shout I'll greet the
Welcome to oar glorious home.
" Mary died smiling."
A LONG farewell we bid thee,
For thj days, sweet friend, are done ;
And the lips of sorrow whisper,
*' She is gone, forever gon'e."
Thy blooming cheek its rose-leaf
Hath drooped, beneath the breath
Of that foe to earthly prospect.
Cold and unrelenting Death.
Thine eye, that once did sparkle.
With a ray so pure and bright,
Hath extinguished in the death-damp
Its last soft beam of light.
Thy heart of love and tenderness
But yesterday the home,
Hath changed its warm pulsations
For the slumber of the tomb.
Thy lips are strangely silent, •
And thy tongae is sadly still. "
Tor thou needest them no longer
Thy spirit thoughts to tell ;
Till the dawning of the glory
Of the resurrection morn,
When a bris^ht, immortal body
Thy spirit shall adorn.
Thy smiles were always lovely,
But far sweeter than the rest,
Was the one thy winging spirit
On thy dying lips impressed.
^uf^I^ «s of the triumph
Which that holj spirit won ;
-^H^ spoke to us of Heaven,
V^here in rapture thou art gone.
Thy name is fondly cherished
It tells them of their Saviour—
Twas his holy mother's name.
Agaim farewell, we bid thee ;
That thy disembodied spirit
May linger round us here.
We'll deck thy tomb with flowers,
VJhose dew-drops tears shall b© •
And luem'ry's purest incense
>V e will ever give to thee.
When we think of thee^of Heaven
Our second thought shall be •
And when we think of Heaven
Sweet Friend 1 we'll think of thee.
We know that thou art happy—
Ever happy in the skies—
Where the soul-transporting rapture
ut the ransomed never dies.
We expect when life is over
That in joy we'll reunite,
nith all the dear depart^
Who have reached the land of light.
Yes ; oh I yes, we hope to see thee
In the glory-land above ;
And shout with thee in ecstacy,
And feast on endless love
She smiled at morninsj, slept at noon, and died with tha
She is smiling and happy,
Disturb not her joy !
For her life-star is worthy
Of .an unclouded sky.
She is sleeping and dreaming ;
Oh, break not the spell 1
One so lovely and saintly
Can't slumber too well
She is fainting and dying ;
Let her spirit go on 1
It is fitted for Heaven,
And for Heaven alone.
She is cold now and lifeless,
Lay her form in the temb I
For the Lord who redeemed her.
Will t-ke her up home.
There, — sleeping and dying
Eternally o'er,^ —
She will feast on the mercies
Of God ever mora.
"lell W .
LIEUT, herndon's messagb TO HIS vnrH.
'hat I cannot utter with my mouth, accepi, Lord, from my
and soul." — Last words of F. Quarlks,
" Lord, save the ship V the hundreds^hriek,
And the Gca breaks o'er the trembling deck ;
** Lord, save the sliip 1 shea's sinking fast V
And surge on surge goes howling past.
Ihe threatening thundars, roaring round.
Joined with the storm's terrific sound,
Proclaim, with long and deafening swell.
Sweet hope's and life's eternal knell.
The crested waves, in lightning's glare,
As they whirl and fight the frantic air,
Gleam like the spectress of despair,
Oome op the scene of wo© to share.
" Lord save the ship I she'll soon be gone l"
And death and woe come darkly on j
While every firm and manly brow
Burns hot with fear unfelt till^now.
Each eye is glazed with hopeless Trght —
No tear-drop trembles on^ho ti ?;ht ; ^
F.or tears must own their want of power.
In such a wild and woeful' hour.
The gallant Ilefndon nobly stands
jfAnd shouts his loud but vain commauda ;
12d MTRTLH LEAVB6.
Resolved tho^quaking bark to save.
Or find with her an ocean grave,
He bravely struggles to ccntrol
Tho grand emotions of his soul,
When with his quick and skilLul eje,
He sees it is Jiis doom to die.
The life-boat's ready to depart,
"When love, in his devoted heart,
Remembers midst his awful doom,
His wife — his cherished wife at home.
" Tell her'' — he cries, th'en voice is hushed,
Bdueath a wave of feeling crushed:
" Tell her'' — but tongue can never tell
The feelings which that bosom swell.
I've seen the gleaming lightning stream,
Descend from clouds in living flame,
Disdain to touch the tempting wire.
And spend its power on the air ;
So that tremendous passion thrill, ,
, By mortal tongue unspeakable,
From toiKjuc to mightier sinfit turns,
And soul from hquI tho story learns.
" Tell her "—that though her husband's lost,
^ He perished bravely at his post.
And strove in life and doatli to prove
That he was worthy of her love.
" Tell her "—that he who loved in life,
Through joy and peace — through storm and strife-
Did love as fondly and as well, *
While death's dark curtains round him fell.
"Tell her " — I'd give a world to meet
Once more at home that smile so sweet ;
To hear once more that sacred voice
Which alwiiys didmy heart rejoice.
" Tell her " — to cherish no regret,
To feel no sorrow o'er my fate :
" Tell her "—I know that all is well,
And " tell her," then, farewell 1 favowoll
IN MEMORY OF DR. MITCHELL.
Rev. Eiisha Milclioll, D. D. , ii distihguislud profeBJor in the
L'l'ivbrsity of North Carolina, ksl Lis lile by falling from a proci-
|ico, while engaged in menfuring the height of the Black Moun-
tiin, In Ihe aumraer of 185Y. His b >dy whs fcund in a bfauliful
mountain stream at thfi foot of the precipice, hi^ hand grasping a
iauu'l branch. The scone of the latal accident is romantic and sub*
Since thou art man and mortal.
And art by death laid low,
'Tis well that thou hast fallen
On you lofty mountain's lu-ow. ,
* That mount will love to praise thee,
As a true and noble friend,
And will proudly speak thy glory,
Till time itself shall end.
AVith its high careering summit,
Making lofty seem but low, • ♦
'Tis an emblem of that greatncsM
Wliioh thy deeds around thee throw.
The hoarse and jarrin'); thunder,
Around the mountain dread,
Was the wild al*rm of nature,
Telling all her son was dead.
The green and fadeless ivy,
Which wove thy shroud of shade,
Was a token tkat thy memory
Shall nevcr,,never fade.'
IN MEMORY OF DR. MITHCELL. 128
The pure flnd stainless waters,
In which thy body lay,
Are an emblem of the tribute
That unnumbered hearts shall pay.
^hou didst grasp a sprig of hiurel,
And held it e'en in death,
An emblem that no fortune
Shall rob thee of that wealth.
That wreath which is immortal,
Like thy stupendous mind.
A wreath of love and honor
That thy countless friends have twined.
Though thou died'st upon the meuntain,
In the lonely, far off dell.
Without a friend to soothe thee,
Or whisper thee farewell ;
'Twas well ; for human friendship
Could not have saved- thee then ;-'
And we hope thou hadst the blessing
Of greater far than. men.
No mortal eye could see thee, . •
But thou wast not unseen,
Bright messengers from Heaven
Wore witnessing the scene.
They came, as God had sent them ;
Were near thee ; saw thee die ;
They caught thee on their pinions
And wafted thee on high.
Jo ^cpqHcO EHeoO.
II ow sad the' thought that lo\-iiig hearts,
Bound by the tics of friendship true,
And blended by communions sweet,
Shoukl even in tlie morn of life
Be severed ])y the hand of death !
Alas, amid the transient scenes
Of changeful, everchangingtimc,
We can't expect unfading joys ;
For everything, around, above,
Is taught by God to softly speak :
"Fast going, gone, forever gone.''
'Tis thus with all the golden links
•By which congenial hearts are joined ;
.'Tis thus with virtue, merit, worth,
All precious excellence — all good.
Ah, yes ; the lovely and the good
I\Iust yield to heartless change, and die ;
Else he Avould not have ceased to live.
Whose sad departure now we mourn.
A friend is gone ! forqver gdne 1
Alas, too true, that gentle smile,
That lovely, dear, familiar voice, •
That countenance serene, wliich told
The noble, generous soul within,
•How beautiful, how full of worth —
Relentless death hath plucked away.
Tears copious, true, and bitter fall
Around his tomb ; and. they are tears
Which bosom-blonding grief hath caused.
The many tears, the many sfghs,
Bespeak the many stricken hearts
From which- a cherished objects' gone.
Dear Friend, thou'rt gone forever hence ;
The noiseless turf sleeps o'er thy form ;
But thou art dearly cherished still,
We feel — we know — that while all else
To all undoing change may yield,
The feelings of the faithful heart.
TO A DEPARTED FRIENI). 125
Cau smile at fortune, mock at time,
And cry till death, " We're still the same/'
Of thee sweet memory will speak,
And in her temples bright and fair.
Thou shalt forever be enshrined.
Resounding always are '"icr %yalls
With soul enchanting w(«-ds, once spoken
By friendship's dear, remembered, lips ;
And there we'll ever hear thy voice. .
There lingers visiqn!% SAveet and bright,
Of pleasures otce enjoyed with friends.
And, when in hours of tranquil thought •
We viewed the scenes in which, thou sharcdst,
Remembrance warm, of thee, will steal
In holy softness o'er the soul ;
And thus thon'lt be with us till death.
Amid the gloom that veils our hearts,
That we're bereft of or^ so dear.
There is a ray of blissful joy
To soothe, to comfort and to cheer ;
It is the consciousness wo have
That, though thou art no more on earth,
And though thy breathless body lies
In quiet stillness in the grave,
Thy spirit, plumed with pinioils bright
Of heavenly faith, hath winged its flight
To brighter realms, to holier joys, —
Thou'rtdead to earth, alive to Heaven,
That voice, whose tones were once so Hwcet,
Shall greet no more the mortal ear: ^
But, well' attuned to angels' tongues.
Shall chant, througli never ending years,
flie glorious picans of tlic saints.
Id everlanting joy and bliss.
Although we wish thee here ilgain,
AVe would not wish thee out of Heaven. ^
" ©Hi" ime i^ose."
This Is the simple but eVquent inscription on the tombstone of !
little Kosa. Above the words is a rosebud broken from the stem
In a bright little home bloomed a beautiful rose,
Full of all that was sweet and endearing ;
A type of the flowers that blossom above,
Where all is more lovely and cheering.
Not a thorn it concealed to secretly wound
The kind and the loving who kissed it 5
. It shed only heavenly fragrance around
The hearts of the many who blessed it.
Ere the light; of its morning had ripened to day —
While its leaves with the dew-drops were shining —
It w*s plucked from its stem — it was stolen away —
And its friends were all left to repining.
Do yoa wonder who plucked it-, so cherished and dear ?
Do you ^sk whe^;e its beauties now glisten ?
Then check for a moment the sigh and the tear,
And joyously, gratefully listen:
Though its sweetness and beauty no more shall be given
On earth to delight those who loved it,
Yet it blo«ris with more sweetmess and beauty in Heaven,
Where Jesus, its Saviour,' removed it.
There fadeless, unchanging, henceforth it will bloom
On that happier, holier; shore.
While it joys and enjoys its felicitous home,
Its glorious home evermore,
- £i)e Setting BU^:
• 'Tvras a etill autumn eve and the Sun in the West
Had wrapped us in shadows and left us to rest,
When I spied in the beautiful sky afar,
On the verge of the heavens, a lonely star.
Not a vapor was there ta bedim its bright gleam,
Or hide frorn our vision one radiant beam ;
And it seemed to smile with a joy divine,
Ai though it was happy, and loved to shine.
I loved it because it looked innocent there.
Away in its sky-home, cloudless and fair ;
'•Sweet jewel of Heaven 1 '' ^oft whispered my heart,
" How gentle and lovely and precious thou art I "
'Thus I view«d it with feelings enchanted, till, lo !
It sank in its beauty the billows below ;
And I sighed that its silvery, heavenly ray,
Which so much delighted, so soon should away.
But a spirit-voice told me in words of peace,
*'Let not its departure your bosom distress ;
For though you no longer behold its pure beams.
Yet in yonder bright heaven it joyously gleams."
Sweet Mary I this star was an emblem of thee,
Thy spirit was gentle and pure as its ray ;
And to thee so much of the angel was given.
Like a star thou wast made for a home in Heaven.
Like the star, thy life though holy and bright,
Was gifted by God vyith enxphemeral light ;
THE SETTING STAR. 127
And scarce did thy beauty our cottage illume,
When soulless thy body went down to the tomb.
But why am I weeping ? there's mercy that says,
It was happy that fleeting and few were thy days ;
That thou only hast fled from a cottage like this,
To enter forever a mansion of bliss. .
There shining in glory and shouting with joy
In the Salem of God, is thine only employ.
Oh, we'll hope while we live, that when death shall have
We will meet thee up there in thy rapturous home !
- THE TRIUMPH OF THE REDEEMED.
"Well done, thou goofl and-faithfnl servant; thou hast
been Jaithful over a Jew thing- ; I will make the ruler over
many things; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. — Mat-
TllliU' XXV. 21.
Nature's heart hfidi ceased its throbbing —
World on worlds liave burned to uothing—
I'^arth has melted and departed ;
All the millions who've CAisted
F.rom tlie bright inauguration
IM'the fiiFt pair in the garden —
AD of every tribe mid nation- •
All oi' every na»ue and ntation
Throughout all the worM terrestrial,
Eound theCreat White TJirone of Jesus,
r>y the angels have been marshaled.
There the Jvecord has been opened —
K^cord bearing on its jtnget*
EveriT great an(lsim})le action —
Every word that has been spoken — ■
Every thought and hope and purpose —
Every pa?^;ion find emotion — •
All have nut I'tie yiorn ordeal
( )r ungwf rvijig. (jodly jiiPtitio
Chrint has made the separation —
Evcrla(*|ing .«r'para(:on —
OI the wicked from the holy,
thi his k'fi are congregated
All who died without receiving
* Hope and mercy sent froMi IJcaven.
See their weeping — hear their wailing I
Weeping, wailjjig Jiever ending I
Jcf^UH turns his eye upon (hem,
Eye .surcharged with burning vengeance,
And, in inajrsty terrific ,
He exclaims, ',' Depart, yo cursed,
Into everlasting sorrow V'
Now he.tnrn,'* him to the ran.somed ;
All hifi look is love and mercy;
They are happ}' — very happy ;
Li^t ! he tellis them softly, eweetly ;
" Well done I good and faithful servant;
130 THE TKIUMrH OF THE REEMED.
You have loved me— you have served me-
When you might have been against me;
You have slood and battled for me,
When you might have fled or fallen ;
You have struggled,, wept and suffered —
Sacrificed dear hopes and treasures-
Sundered bonds of sweet affection-
Lived and died as I commanded —
That your God might love and save you !
Tluice well done ! ye noble children I
Since you've been thus truly faithful
Over treasures few and fleeting,
In the land of your probation,
Henceforth I will make you rulers
Over many things and precious —
Make you kings in Heaven's kingdoms-
Kingdoms that exist forever —
Make you priests in Heaven's temples —
Temples that shall crumble never —
Kings and Priests to God forever V
Now beliold you shining city!
That's the queen of fadeless beauty —
That's the hallowed home of glory —
That's the Capital of Heaven —
That's the great celestial Salfrw ; —
Here's the pathway to its portals —
Pathway made of rays of glory —
Enter, and rejoice forever !
I don't tell you seek to enter —
I don't tell you strive to enter —
I don't tell you pray to enter —
I don't tell you weep to enter —
I don't tell you die to enter ; —
These I told you while you journeyed
In the world of ein and sorrow ;
Now, I simply tell yoUj " Enter V^
Lo ! the sinless, white-robed legions,
Numberless as etars of Heaven,
All who've come through tribulation,
Porm in long and brilliant columns
To begin the march triumphal.
See them march ! Attending angels
Hover round in praise and wonder.
See them march ! The Lord Redeemer
TRIUxMPH OF THE REDEEHED. 131
Is their glorified commander.
See them march with banners streaming !
iSee the palms of vict'ry waving !
See the robes of beauty sliining!
See the spotless pinions Hashing!
See the crowns of glory streaming !
See the walls of jasper sparkling !
See the crystal mansions beaming !
See the throne of God careering !
See the lofty life-tree bending !
See the living waters dashing !
See the fadeless flowers blushing !
See the smiles of Jesus playing!
See the blissful fields outspreading !
See th'fe hills eternal looming!
See all Heaven sweetly blooming !
See immortal glory blazing!
Hear the shouts of angels sounding!
ITcnr Fera[diic music swelling !
Hear the voice of God resounding!
Hear unninn bored millions shouting!
Hear them hailing, blessing, praising!
Hear their hallelujas blending!
Hear their thrilling pagans rising!
Now they've entered ; yes they've entered!
Entered into highest Heaven !
Alleluia, praise Jehovah !
Alleluia, now — forever.
Oh, how fades all earthly glory.
When we bring it to the contrast
With such mighty coming wonders !
Go t® Kome in all her greatness.
Which she had when she was greatest ;
Gather to her streets and temples
All that's beautiful and charming,
All that's bright and grand and mighty,
Which her spreading realms could lurnish.
Let her heroes conquer nations,
Nations lull of wealth and power;
Make stupendous preparations
P'or her proud returning consul ;
Make a pageant far transcending
Aught she ever saw or hoped for;
Gather garlands, hang the festoons,
Wreathe the chaplets, crown the goblets,
Bear th^ arches, float the bani^ersj
■ 132 TRIUMPH or THE REDEEMED.
Sound the trumpets, swell tlie plaudits ;
Give ber daughters, fair as angels ;
Give her eons and soldiers brilliant ;
Make Rome more than :iome e'er could be ;
Make a triumph, such as fancy
1 her wildest freak can conjure . —
Then contrast it with the triumph
Of the ransomed, and the Saviour !
» One is made of objects mortal,
Deathless all that'makes the other.
Reason tells us, wisdom tells ua,
Rome's great triumph soon is ended ;
JMmc soofi finds her garlands faded,
Finds her banners torn and trailing,
Finds her lofty arches broken,
Finds her noble temp'cs crumldad,
Finds her heroes gone — forgotten,
Finds her people dead and buriod,
Finds e'en Rotne herself in ruins,
But the triumph under Je^us
Is an cvrrlasl.inj trii'jnph!
Child of ftiith in the Redeemer,
Ofid liumility and trouble, .
^Mid your sorrows and aflViclion?-,
See the vinion wc have painted ;
And with bright anticipation
Ot your rai)ture in that entrance,
5»ummon z«'al attd onward struggle.
, Centiuies oftbuk mislorhine
Might be sought for, could they purchase /•
Such a trinmjdi, such a glory.
Weep, but fondly hope while weeping!
Ye, who've lost the loved and cherished,
Ye, who've wept and wailed in anguish
Round the grave so cold and ruthless,
See your loved ones in the triumph !
See them marching, singing, shouting,
Into God's eternal Eden.
Weep not them, they need no weeping, •
Thank the Lord, and go and join them I
J 7 ;
I NEW PUBLiCA:.Ip>;^^
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